









Gass. 





^ . U Cg f 4- xS e 





• .'V.- 

% , k . J> # 4 . . 

' ,( 

. ‘ V’- V 

'■ ,( 










'll ■: 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 









. New York. 

MUNROS PUBLISHING HOUSE, 

24 8r26 VANDEWATER ST. 


1 


The Beautiful Coauette; 


OR, 

THE LOVE THAT WON HER. 


Tlie Most Intense Love Story Ever Written. 


By LAURA JEAN LIBBEY, 

Author of “ The Crime of Hallow E'en," The Flirtations of a Beauty" 
“ Daisy Gordon s Folly" Little Leafy" “ Lyn- 
dalVs Temptation " etc. 


NEW YORK: C- 

NORMAN L. MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 


24 AND 26 Vandewater Street. 
1892. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1892, by Norman L. 
Munro] in the office of the Librarian of Congress, 
at Washington, D. C. 






rn 


^le Beautiful Coquette; 


OR, 


THE LOVE THAT WON HER. 


The Most Intense LoYe Story Ever Written. 


By LAURA JEAN LIBBEY, 

Author of “ The Crime of Hallotv E'en,''' “ The Flirtations of a Beauty,'^' 
Daisy Gordon's Folly," ^‘‘Little Leafy" " Lyn- 
dalVs Temptation" etc. 


CHAPTER 1. 

THE LOVERS. 

“ She looked so lovely as she bent 
And kissed her dainty finger-tips; 

A man had given all other bliss, 

And all his worldly worth for this — 

To waste his whole heart in one kiss 
Upon her perfect lips.” 

WOHBER if it is true that coming events cast their 
dark shadows on before? To-day of all days I should be 
happy, for Aurelia is corning home; and yet Some- 

how there is a heavy oppression at iny heart, a sense of 
coming evil that I cannot shake off. 

^^But, pshaw! I know it is wrong to allow my mind 
to run upon presentiments — they never come true;^^ and 
Margaret Lancaster, a pale, slight young girl, turned 
slowly from the cottage window where she had been 
standing — gazing dreamily out over the wheat fields, 
waving golden under the rays of the June sunshine — 
ci’ossed the room, and paused, with clasped Ijands, 
before two portraits hanging side by side on the opposite 
wall. 

They were the portraits of two young and lovely girls 


4 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

—twill sisters— but as widely different in features as two 
mortals well could be. 

The names carved on the gilded frames, read "'Mar- 
garet/^ and "Aurelia.-^" 

In the portrait of Margaret, there was no mistaking 
the girl who stood before it, with her pale, sweet face, 
innocent blue eyes, and fair curling hair. 

It was just such a face, with a pure white soul shining 
througli it, that the old masters gave to the faces of 
angels. 

But Aurelia! How can I describe to you what Aurelia 
was like? The artist who painted the portrait went 
mad for love of her. 

Aurelia had a dark, dimpled face, with the deep crim- 
son of a wild resets heart on cheek and smiling, pouting 
lips; dark, curling hair, and wine-dark eyes, passionate 
and wholly irresistible. 

They were danger signals that might have warned men, 
but somehow they always courted the danger of looking 
into them. 

A face like Aurelia^s was never painted upon the 
pictured faces of angels; rather of the beauties of the 
gilded salons of Paris. 

They were only seventeen, these twin sisters — Mar- 
garet and Aurelia Lancaster — whose past was so bitter, 
and whose future was to be the strangest that ever pen 
portrayed. 

Alas, how cruel it was that the love of one man was 
destined to wreck the life of both! 

How long Margaret stood there in silent contemplation 
of the portrait, she never knew. She was startled by a 
step and a cheery voice outsidi3 that brought the color to 
her face in a great surging glow. 

The door was swung hastily open, and a tall, stalwart 
young man, with a fair, handsome face, came hurriedly 
into the room. 

"Ah, here you are, Margaret, he said, cheerily, ad- 
vancing and taking one of her little hands in his. " I 
have been looking everywhere for you. I might have 
known that I should find you here before Aurelia^s por- 
trait. Why, this is perfect idolatry, I should say, Mar- 
garet. I do not quite like it.^^-- • 

The girl laughed a low, happy, sweet laugh. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


5 


You must idolize Aurelia, too, for my sake, Ger- 
ald,"^ she said, softly. ^^Slie is so bright — so beauti- 
ful.’^ 

Gerald Romaine bent his fair, handsome head and 
kissed the lily-white hands he held. 

Very generous of my-wife-that-is-to-be, making ar- 
rangements for a place in my heart for another, ’Mie said, 
amusedly. 

^^But it is only for Aurelia,” she answered, opening 
lier blue eyes wide, and for nobody else.” 

Aurelia will, indeed, be very dear to me for yoitr 
sake, Margaret,” he responded; ^^but forgive me for 
clianging the subject; I must tell you, hurriedly, that 
wdiich I have sought you to say. And that is, that I 
cannot go over to the train; I have just received a tele- 
gram from New York which requires my presence there 
for the next two days. I start immediately. Father 
will be at the station to meet Aurelia. I am sorry, in- 
deed, not to be here to welcome he]-, but it cannot be 
helped, dear. I have barely time to snatch one good-bye 
kiss. I must be off, Margaret.” 

A moment later her fair, handsome lover was waving 
her adieu as he galloped past the window, and wasquick- 
ly lost to sight in a bend of the road. 

Margaret turned away from the window with a beat- 
ing heart. 

‘^How good Heaven is to give me his love,” she mur- 
mured, softly; it was the one gift of God tliat I craved 
and prayed for above all others. I wonder, despite the 
fact that the wedding-day is already set, if I really am 
to be his wife? It seems too great a joy to be real.” 

^‘Margaret — Margaret, child! where are you?” called 
another voice. This time it was Mrs. Romaine sum- 
moning her, from the old farmhouse kitchen, where all 
manner of good things known to culinary art were in a 
state of preparation in honor of Aurelia’s" coming. 

I do hope Aurelia will be glad to get home, but I 
almost doubt it,” said Mrs. Romaine, seating herself on 
the cool, wide doorstep, and fanning herself vigorously 
with her gingham apron. 

What a deal of difference there is between you two 
sisters, anyhow,” she went on, energetically; you are as 


6 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


sensible as an old woman, Margaret, and Aurelia is that 
feather-brained 

A little white hand came down suddenly over her lips. 

Don’t speak in that way of Aurelia,” said Margaret, 
in a pained voice; ^‘indeed, you hurt me, dear Mrs. 
Komaine. She is willful, roguish, gay, but she has a 
true heart — dear little Aurelia.” 

Mrs. Eomaine shrugged her shoulders, but answered 
never a word. Margaret would not have been pleased 
had she known what her thoughts were. 

The story of the presence of these two young girls in 
the Eomaine household v^as certainly a sad one — a few 
words will explain how it came about. 

Sixteen years before, the Eomaines had kept the vil- 
lage inn down at the fork of the roads, and the hospit- 
able, cheery place was known far and wide from the 
travelers who had chanced to pass that way. 

One dark, stormy night — ah! how well Mrs. Eomaine 
remembei’ed it — the driver of the stage, who always 
stopped there to change horses, deposited a traveler at 
the inn— a young and lovely woman — traveling alone, 
save for the two wee mites she carried in her arms. 
Despite the storm, Mrs. Eomaine hurried out to meet 
her, and relieve the pale, slight creature of her burden. 

^^Come right into the sitting-room, ma^am,” she 
cried, cheerily. Lord bless me! it/s an awful night to 
be traveling, and alone; are you going far?” 

I was to have gone to New York — but I — I took the 
wrong train,” said the stranger witli a sob in lier voice. 

— I — was not used to traveling, you see,” she went on 
piteously. The hurrying crowds, the clanging bells, 
and deafening sounds confused me. I found out my 
mistake when the conductor came around to take up the 
tickets — they told me it would be best to stop off at the 
next station — stop over night at this inn, and take the 
early morning train down at the cross-roads for New 
York — and I followed their advice!” 

It was certainly the best you could have done,” as- 
sented Mrs. Eomaine, proceeding to unwrap the folds of 
the heavy shawls that enveloped the babies. She gave a 
cry of delight as she saw them; never, in the whole 
course of her life, had she beheld anythipg so beautiful 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


7 


as the two infantile faces turned simultaneously and 
wonderingly toward her — one dark — the other fair. 

^^What beautiful darlingsT^ she cried, with all a 
woman’s rapture; ^^are they twins?” 

A quick, sharp cry broke from the lips of the woman 
cowering over the blazing fire. 

Mrs. Romaine asked the question a second time before 
she answered yes.” 

^^Of course you want a nice room with a comfortable 
fire in it and a hot supper,” said Mrs. Romaine briskly. 

I’ll see that you have it at once, and I’ll come and help 
you with the little ones.” 

You are very kind,” said the lady, laying a detain- 
ing hand on Mrs. Romain(3’s arm — ^‘but I shall not re- 
quire any supper — food would choke me — I vvant only — 
rest — rest ” and the words ended in a heavy sob. 

But the children would like something to eat, 
wouldn’t’ you, dears?” asked Mrs. Romaine, stooping 
and kissing their velvety lips. 

A little later Mrs. Romaine announced that the room 
was ready, and soon after the trio were ensconced in 
it. 

^^I wish you would let me bring you a glass of wine at 
least,” she said, turning toward the door — ^^you look so 

very pale, ma’am — like you might faint ” 

, ^^Ido feel weak,” assented the stranger — yes, you 
may bring me the wine if you like, I ” 

The sentence never was finished; there was a low, 
stified cry, and the beautiful lady who had been standing 
with hands outstretched before the fire, staggered 
suddenly backward and sunk down apparently lifeless at 
Mrs. Romaine’s feet. 

In a trice Mrs. Romaine had raised her in her arms. 

^^My God!” she cried out in horror as her eyes fell on 
the ghastly face and staring eyes, she is dead!” 

But no — the heart beat faintly. The thread of life in 
that fair body was loath to snap in twain so easily — but 
there was a grayish pallor on the cheek and lips that 
struck terror to Mrs. Romaine’s heart. 

Restoratives were quickly applied, and strong brandy 
forced between the white lips, but it was all useless. 

Mercy on us!” cried Mrs. Romaine in great alarm 


8 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

to the housemaid whom she had summoned^ the lady is 
dyingF^ 


CHAPTER II. 

A THOUGHTLESS MOMENT THE VOW WAS WRUNG 
FROM HER LIPS. 

But even as Mrs. Eomaine spoke, the lady’s eyes 
opened slowly, and she cast a strange, yearning look 
into the kind, homely, pitying face bending over her. 

^^Am I dying?” she gasped; ‘^tell me the truth, am I 
really dying? Answer me — do not mislead me.” 

I am afraid so, my poor soul,” replied Mrs. Eomaine, 
huskily. I have sent for a doctor, but the nearest one 
lives many a mile away.” 

That was — useless,” murmured the stranger; my 
time has come, I feel it in my heart; oh, the poor ba- 
bies — the poor little ones.” 

A terrible convulsion shook her frame as she spoke, 
which was rapidly followed by a second and a third, 
and looking at the white, stark face, Mrs. Eomaine 
saw that the shadow of death was indeed creeping over 
it. 

Oh, if the flickering flame of life might but last until 
the doctor arrived. But it was not to be. The stranger 
grew worse so rapidly that Mrs. Eomaine'^s alarm in- 
creased with each passing moment. 

^^My life is ebbing out!” she gasped, speaking with 
difficulty; ^‘but, oh, I cannot die with the dark, hor- 
rible story I have to tell — untold. For the love of Heaven, 
send for a minister; I should not rest in my grave, though 
they buried me fathoms deep, with this on my soul.” 

Oh, lady,” sobbed Mrs. Eomaine, pityingly, there 
isn’t a minister this side of Stillwell, and that’s twenty 
odd miles from here. Is it aiy thing you could tell me, 
poor soul?” 

The strangely luminous eyes turned upon her, and 
their steady gaze seemed to burn down into the very 
depths of her soul — she felt almost afraid of being all 
alone with the dying stranger. 

^^Oh, God, if I could but trust you,” the pale lips 
murmured. 


THE BEAUTIFVL COQUETTE, 9 

Yon can trust. me/^ replied Mrs. Komaine with sim- 
ple dignity. 

Take a solemn vow that you will never betray that 
wliich I have to say to you — swear it, make your oath 
so binding that nothing on this earth could tempt you 
to break it! 

‘^No word that you may confide in me shall ever pass 
my lips in life or even on the threshold of death — say 
that — swear it!^^ 

Mrs. Eornaine repeated the awesome words slowly 
after her, and in the dark time to come she would have 
given her life if that solemn oath had not been wrung 
from her lips. 

Lock the door and come closer,^’ she whispered 
faintly, but first put the two little babes in my arms."^^ 

Mrs. Komaine did as requested, but to her amazement 
she noticed that all the mother-love of the dying woman 
seemed to be showered upon the dark-eyed infant. She 
was apparently utterly oblivious to the presence of the 
other child. 

Oh, I am so young to die and leave her all alone,^^ 
she wailed. 

Please Heaven, she will still have her little sister,’^ 
said Mrs. Komaine gently, but the woman did not hear. 

Listen,’^ she cried, ^Hhe curse that falls on the 
daughters of the house of Lancaster hangs over her head. 
That is the reason, perhaps, that I have loved Aurelia 
best,^^ she admitted piteously. (pointing to fair- 

haired Margaret), "‘will never know great sorrow, she 
will pass through life calmly. The sword will fall on 
Aurelia^s head — only on Aurelia^s. 

“It maybe kept from her for long years, but it will 
overtake lier at last, in all the freshness of her girlish 
beauty, the horrible story will burst upon the world like 
a skeleton stalking forth from its charnel house, and 

then Oh, God! help jsny beautiful little Aurelia. I 

dare not think what will happen then,^^ and the hapless 
young mother kissed the tiny rose-bud face, all the pas- 
sion and anguish of love shining in her dying eyes. 

“ Listen P’ she cried again, turning to Mrs. Komaine. 
“ Let me tell you, while I have the strength, the most 
pitiful story that ever darkened a human life, and made 
me wonder if there is peace and safety to be found on 


10 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


the wide earth, and justice in heaven. You will realize, 
when I have confessed all, that I am right in praying 
God in this, my dying hour, that Aurelia may never 
love; for she, the last dark-eyed daughter of the ac- 
cursed race of the Lancasters, must never uiarry. Bend 
closer, while I tell you why. Oh, Aurelia, Aurelia, why 
must the sin of another fall on your innocent head, and 
blot out love, happiness and faith? I 

The sentence was never finished. A violent spasm 
shook her slender frame, and her face grew rigid. How 
she tried to beat back the wave of death for one brief 
moment! How her fiuttering soul clung to its tene- 
ment of clay, to do the bidding of her will, one terrible 
instant! But, alas! the words froze on her stiffening 
lips in a bitter wail. The vital secret, which was 
to bring a world of woe to so many lives, was destined to 
remain unrevealed until the fatal time she had foretold. 
She had fallen back upon her pillow — dead. 

That was an experience in Eachel Eomaine’s life 
that always stood out clear. She never forgot how they 
searched for some clew to trace where Mrs. Lancaster's 
home was — where her friends could be found; but there 
was not so much as a line about her to aid them in the 
search. So they buried her in the little churchyard 
hard by, and turned their attention to the two stray 
waifs who had been thrust so unceremoniously upon 
their hands. 

The neighbors advised that they be sent to the home 
for foundlings, but this neither John Eomaine nor his 
good wife would agree to do. 

We have enough and to spare, Eachel, said John; 
^^we will keep the twin babies, and do for them as 
though they were our own. That will not cause us to 
love our own son Gerald any the less — bless the boy^s 
heart !^’ 

Thus it came to pass that the little ones, Margaret 
and Aurelia, became the protegees of John and Eachel 
Eomaine; and fine sport they were for Master Gerald, 
their ten-year-old son, who was never tired of looking at 
the pretty white fairies, as he called them. 

Swiftly — very swiftly it seemed to Mrs. Eomaine— the 
years rolled on, and brought with them many changes. 

The Eomaines no longer kept the village inn. For 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


11 


years they had been domiciled at Eomaine Farm, some 
distance down the valley; and here it was, in this iso- 
lated spot, that the two waifs their humble roof shel- 
tered blossomed into lovely girlhood. 

But one event happened in those early years to cast a 
slight gloom over the household, and that was the de- 
parture of Gerald Eomaine for college. 

That was the last that Aurelia saw of him for long 
years. 

The time came at length when it was decided that the 
girls must have a better education than the village school 
hard by afforded the*m, for they were fourteen now. 
Then it was that the wide difference between the nat- 
ures of sweet Margaret and willful, impetuous Aurelia 
became apparent. 

When Farmer Eomaine announced to them that he 
had made arrangements to send them to a boarding- 
school in Eichmond, Margaret sobbed as though her 
heart would break at the very thought of leaving the dear 
old farm and those who had been so dear to her; but 
Aurelia’s joy was intense; she could not ask questions 
enough as to how soon they were to start, and when the 
day came it was the happiest of her life. 

The first three weeks that Margaret and Aurelia spent 
at Miss Hulburton^s ^^fashionable seminary for young 
ladies,’^ neither of the girls ever forgot. Margaret was 
timid and very shy of strangers, cried herself sick with 
longing for the sight of the dear old farm again, with 
the scent of the pink clover and the honeysuckle about 
it, and the dear old faces there. Aurelia could not en- 
dure to hear it mentioned. 

^^How can you ever bear to think of our little attic 
room and- the stuffy parlor, as they call it down-stairs, 
after seeing these magnificent reception-rooms and the 
spacious grounds? Bah! But perhaps, ’^continued Aurelia, 
flippantly, ‘‘I was intended for a lady, Margaret, and 
you were not.’’ 

I suppose that must be the way of it, dear,” returned 
Margaret, thoughtfully, thinking everything Aurelia 
said must be quite right. 

In the seminary, as everywhere else, Aurelia was the 
best loved — gay, restless, piquant — her faults and follies 
were more charming than other girls’ virtues in every 


12 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


one s eyes. All the girls of the seminary fairly adored 
Aurelia, and Margaret was well content that it should be 
so. 

These three weeks at the seminary was dark ones for 
Margaret. Aurelia enjoyed the new life immensely — 
all but the studying. 

Margaret wrote home every day, but there was never a 
line from Aurelia. And by the tone of Margaret^s 
letters, they guessed at the farmhouse how homesick she 
was. 

I reckon Til have to take a run down to Eichmond, 
and cheer the lassies up a bit,^^ decided Farmer Eomaine; 

iFs only natTal thet theyTe feelin^ cast down. They^e 
never been five miles away from the old farm before, 
bless their pretty heads! Their Uncle John, as they 
call me, can set ^em straight.'’^ 

The old farmer put his determination into execution 
at once, though he came near changing his mind half a 
dozen times in the interim, declaring that he should 
hardly spare the time to go, for the clover-fields down by 
the bridge wanted mowing, and he had promised to see 
some hands about hay-making. With great effort, his 
wife got him started off at last. 

It was the noon-hour when he reached the seminary. 
Seeing so many lovely young girls on the lawn quite be- 
wildered him. He stopped short as he was advancing 
up the broad, paved walk, and, wiping his spectacles, 
peered eagerly about to discern Margaret and Aurelia 
among them. 

Both girls were on the lawn at the time. Aurelia 
saw him first. In that instant two hands as cold as ice 
clutched Margaret^s arm, and a horrified voice gasped in 
her ear: 

^^Oh! see what they are all making fun of — it^s 
Uyicle John! Don’t look in that direction; if he should 
see us and come this way, I should die of shame — I 
should, indeed, Margaret!” 

And at that instant, in a voice as loud as a fog-horn, 
the old farmer called lustily: 

Margaret — Aurelia! where are you, girls?” 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


13 


CHAPTER IIL 

I KEVER LOVE, I SHALL NEVER MARRYT 

Farmer Romaine certainly presented a very ludicrous 
appearance as he stood there. He never looked his best 
dressed up in his Sunday clothes; he felt decidedly just 
as he looked — awkward. He never was at his ease in a 
high starched collar and a cravat. 

For the love of Heaven don^t let him see us/^ panted 
Aurelia, under her breath, with horror-stricken eyes; 
‘‘leCs run away, Margaret, and hide until after he 
goes.^^ 

For the first time in all her gentle life an angry fire 
leaped into MargarePs sweet blue eyes. 

Oh, Aurelia, how can you talk so?^^ she cried, dis- 
tressedly; "^you grieve me beyond words — for shame!"" 
and she tore herself free from Aurelia"s detaining hands, 
and fiew like a swallow over the greensward, throwing 
herself with a cry of joy into Farmer Romaine"s arms. 
How could the girls laugh and make fun of this dear old 
Uncle John whom she loved with all her heart? 

At length he called eagerly for Aurelia, but to Mar- 
garet"s dismay Aurelia was nowhere to be found. 

Seeing his dear old face once more was too much for 
Margaret; she clung to him with kisses and tears, beseech- 
ing him to take her home with him when he went. 

‘^Bean"t this only a whim, child?"" he asked, anxious- 
ly. ^^Are you quite sure, Margy, that you"d rather be 
at the old farm than here?"" 

Quite sure,"" replied the girl, firmly, ^^do not leave 
me here, uncle."" 

He was not proof against her entreaties, and when he 
left Hulberton Seminary, Margaret went with him. 
They found Aurelia waiting to greet her uncle John at 
the bend in the road — where all the girls could not wit- 
ness it, she had said to herself. Her surprise to find 
Margaret with him, and to learn that she was going home 
with him, was great. 

should pine away if I were to stay here any 
longer,"" said Margaret jiiteously, do come with us, 
dear."" 

‘‘She shall decide for herself,"" said John Romaine, 


14 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


laying his rough, kindly hand on the beautiful dark 
curly head. Book-learnin^ may do her a heap sight 
more good than chasin^ butterflies round the old farm, 
eh, Aurelia?'^ 

shall stay here, even though it parts ns, Mar- 
garet, said Aurelia, drawing back from Farmer Eo- 
maine^s outstretched hand. cannot go back to that 
dreary farm-life, I would die of ennui 

So the twin sisters were parted for the flrst time in 
their lives, whether it was for weal or for woe, is the 
story we have to tell. 

For some time Aurelia’s letters came regularly to the 
farmhouse; then, at length, they became less frequent 
— when vacation time came Aurelia pleaded so hard to 
be permitted to spend it with some one of her school- 
mates that John Eomaine had not the heart to refuse 
her. 

Margaret Lancaster’s life at the farm would have been 
happy enough but for one drawback; for three long 
years that winged their slow flights by, she had not 
looked upon Aurelia’s face. She would have been in- 
expressibly lonely but for anew element that had crept 
inco her life, and that was the happiness that the return 
home of Gerald Eomaine brought to her. 

It had been long years since he had parted from Mar- 
garet, and he could scarcely believe that the tall, fair, 
shy young girl who advanced to greet him was, indeed, 
the little Margaret whom he had left behind him. 

Thrown constantly together during the happy days 
that followed, was it any wonder that Margaret learned 
to love Gerald Eomaine with all the strength of her 
heart? But she would have died ere she would have 
let him read her sweet secret by either glance or word. 

lie was certainly a handsome man — tall, broad-shoul- 
dered and musculur, with a cheery face and laughing 
blue eyes. The brow, from which the dark-brown hair 
was pushed carelessly back, was broad and high, and the 
thick, brown mustache covered a mouth that alone 
would have stamped his face, could it have been seen, as 
honest, noble and true. 

The love-story of Margaret Lancaster and Gerald Eo- 
maine did not have even the usual romance about it. 
Probably Gerald would never have looked upon fair, pale 


15 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

Miirgaret in the liglit of a sweetheart if the idea had not 
been suggested to him. 

Mrs. Romaine was the first to notice that Margaret’s 
heart was going out to Gerald, and she was well pleased. 
She read her secret in a thousand different ways — in the 
sudden fiush at the sound of his footstep, of the girl’s 
sweet, unnatural shyness in his presence, of the delight 
it seemed to give her to talk of him in his absence; and 
she saw, too, that Gerald was quite unconscious of it all. 

She resolved upon a very diplomatio action; she would 
see if there was any possibility of Gerald’s evei' caring 
for Marg^-et; if not, she would warn the girl to never 
let her heart go out to any man until he had shown some 
preference or love for herself. 

A good opportunity occurred to put her resolution 
into execution on the very day that it was made She 
saw Gerald pacing up and down under the trees in the 
orchard, smoking a cigar. She threw a light shawl 
about her shoulders, and joined him there. He looked 
delighted. 

It is not often that you come out to have a chat 
with me, mother mine,” he said, putting his white, 
strong hands on both of her shoulders, and looking down 
into her eyes a moment, then escorting her to a rustic 
seat. 

wanted to have a talk with you, Gerald,” she said; 

not a chat, but an earnest, sober talk.” 

He laughed heartily. 

About my inventions?” he asked. 

Yes, about them, and about what you would do if 
your dreams of making fame and fortune out of them 
came true.” 

I have never given it a thought,” he said, leaning 
carelessly back against the gnarled trunk of an old ap- 
ple-tree, taking the cigar from his mouth with his white 
fingers, and blowing the curling wreaths of blue smoke 
thoughtfully away. 

have thought of it,” she said, her voice trembling 
a little as she looked up at her strong, handsome son, 
whom she fairly idolized. 

^^Have you?” he said, laughing good-humoredly. 

Pray unfold your plans to me, mother!” 


16 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

I slioiiltl like yon to marry aiid-settle down, Gerald/^ 
she answered, very quietly. 

There was nothing but sheer amazement in the face 
that looked back at her through the smoke-clouds. 

^^Have you never thought of it, Gerald?’^ she asked, 
earnestly. 

Upon my honor — no, mother, he responded, 
quickly. 

It is strange. I wonder why you have not, Ger- 
ald?’^ she queried, eagerly; most young men have 
thoughts of marrying — donT they, my dear?’^ 

Your question is very easily answered, my dear 
mother,^’ he replied, smiling. No man ever thinks of 
marrying until he happens to see the right one that 
awakens his sleeping heart to the feeling called — love; 
until he meets and recognizes, by some unknown law, 
the one being above all others whom he believes Heaven 
intended for hirn.'’^ 

And have you never met such a one yet, Gerald?” 
she asked, in a very low voice. 

^‘No,” he said, thoughtfully, never.” 

Heaven help poor, pretty Margaret,” was her mental 
comment. 

You do not know — no one but a mother can know or 
understand — how I worry over your future, my dear,” 
she said; ^^if you marry unwisely, your whole life will 
be wrecked.” 

What if I never marry at all?” he questioned. 

You are so brave and handsome, you will be sure to 
marry, dear,” she declared. 

^^Does such a prospect please you?” he asked, 
amusedly. 

^^It is the one thought of my life, Gerald,” she an- 
swered, huskily; adding, slowly: It is said that men 
who are reckless and wicked. Heaven repays with reck- 
less wives or children.” 

‘^Then I can feel safe on that score, mother,” he an- 
swered seriously; ^^I have never been reckless— I have 
never trilled with women, and made their hearts fail- 
game; I have reverenced all your sex for your sake, 
mother.” 

^‘I should like to know your opinion on a subject that 


THE EEAUTIEUL COQUETTE. Vi 

has been weighing very heavily on my mind for some 
time past, Gerald, she said. 

‘‘ You have but to speak, mother, he answered, seat- 
ing himself on the rustic bench beside her. 

Suppose,^^ said Mrs. Eomaine slowly, ^Hhat a girl, 
young and beautiful — all that is most graceful and 
gracious, meets a man and likes him so well that her lik- 
ing grows into love for him, and that love takes posses- 
sion of her, should you think less of this young girl for 
her great secret affection for this man who had shown no 
signs of any for her?^^ 

‘‘No, certainly not,^Mie replied* ‘‘to love or not to 
love is ordained by a higher power. It is not her fault, 
it is her fate to love him.^^ 

“ Would you think it prudent, or discreet if some of 
her friends, some one who loved her, told him of it?^^ 

“I should think it a wise thing to do,^Mie replied 
carelessly, “ for then he could guard against the slightest 
action or word that might give her encouragement if he 
did not care for her.^^ 

“Thank Heaven I hear you say that!^^ cried Mrs. 
Eomaine, huskily. “You have such noble principles, 
my boy, you would do right. 

“Why, what has that to do with me, mother?’^ cried 
Gerald, in astonishment. 

She laid her hand on his arm, whispering softly: 

“ I know of a young girl who has given all the love of 
her heart to you, Gerald — whose life is wrapped up, so 
to speak, in yours. 

“ Why, mother, you must be mistaken, he cried; 
“ you certainly are mistaken. I know of no young girl 
who takes even a passing interest in me.^’ 

“Try and think, she said. “Ponder well. You 
certainly have not been so blind as not to see, despite all 
her shy n ess. 

He shook his head, declaring he could think of no 
one, and begging her to tell him who the young girl was. 
His curiosity was greatly aroused. 

“ Yes, I will tell you, Gerald,^’ said Mrs. Eomaine. 
“ I hope to Heaven I am acting wisely. The young girl 
who loves you so well is — our Margaret — Margaret Lan- 
caster.^^ 


18 


THE beautiful COQUETTE. 


CHAPTER IV. 

^^WILL HIS LOVE PKOVE TRUE — OR FALSE 

What Gerald Romaine^s thoughts were when he 
found himself alone can better be imagined than de- 
scribed. 

Margaret loved him! Why, the thought seemed im- 
possible. But, now that he came to look into the idea more 
closely, a thousand memories rushed over his mind that 
substantiated the truth of it — of looks, words, of flushed 
cheeks and downcast, sweet, shy eyes — the true meaning 
of which he had not understood until now. 

How blind he had been! He had always said to him- 
self that a man would understand even the faintest sign 
of a worn aiPs* regard; but had he understood? 

He did not love Margaret; in all the six-and -twenty 
years of his life he had never given one thought to love, 
yet, somehow, it made his heart beat the quicker to know 
that he could awaken love in the heart of a girl like 
Margaret Lancaster. 

There was but one course to pursue,” Gerald Ro- 
mainetold himself, ^^and that was toleavethe farm; with 
time and absence she would soon forget him.” 

He made arrangements to leave that very night; and 
the time came when he’must tell Margaret he was going, 
and say good-bye to her. 

He had no opportunity to speak with her that after- 
noon, but he knew of her custom of strolling down to 
the little brook beyond the clover meadow, where the 
light of the stars lay pale and white on the sleeping 
flowers; and he followed her there. 

Margaret was made aware of his presence when he 
touched her lightly on the arm. 

Are you day-dreaming, Margaret?” he cried cheer- 
ily; have been standing here for the last five min- 
utes and spoken to you twice, and you have not even 
heard me. How faraway your thoughts must have been 
wandering.” ' 

She gave a violent start, and he saw the rich color 
surge over her face in a great crimson wave. She shrank 
back from him abashed — ah, if he had but known where 
her thoughts were. 


19 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

Let me tell you why I have sought you here, Mar- 
garet/" he said, lightly. '' I am here to say good-bye; I 
am going away from the farm to-night."" 

Tlie words fell on the summer air like a death-knell, 
the light seemed to suddenly die from the stars and the 
world to stand still. 

‘^liow long shall you be gone, Gerald?"" she asked, 
and he looked at herein Avonder, the sweet voice was so 
changed. 

As Professor Crouch sings in his sweet ^ Kathleen 
Mavouriieen ": 

‘‘ ‘ It may be for years and it may be forever,’ ” 
he answered, lightly. 

A great wave of sorrow and desolation swept over her, 
great, blinding tears sprung to her eyes, and, though 
she strove with superhuman effort to keep them back, 
they would brim over and roll down her cheeks. 

The words had smitten her as a sudden and heavy 
storm of hail breaks down a fragrant flower. The light 
left her eyes, and her face grew white and cold as death, 
and he could not but help see her emotion. 

''Are you sorry that lain going, Margaret?"" he asked 
quickly, taking her little cold hands pityingly in his. 

She could not have answered him if her very life de- 
pended on it; Avords seemed to choke her, she could only 
bow her head in token of assent. 

Is there a man in the Avide Avorld that can see a 
lovely girl Aveep, and know that her tears are shed on 
his account, Avithout his heart being touched, if he has 
one? 

Gerald Eomaine Avas tender of heart, and impulsive; 
his one thought Avas to comfort Margaret, and ixW in a 
moment he uttered words that he Avas to rue all his after 
life. They seemed to fall from his lips before he Avas 
aware of it. He said that he Avould stay if she was 
sorry to lose him, and that if she wished, she should be 
his Avife. 

lie never forgot the face she raised to his — love had 
made it fairly glorious. 

Am 1 to stay under those conditions — or go?"" 

She held out her hands to him and whispered — 
"Stay!"" 

For a moment there Avas silence between tnem, 


20 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


deep, unbroken silence, save for the night winds that 
rustled through the trees overhead. The brook at their 
feet ran on to tlie river, and the river ran on to the sea, 
but did not whisper to them what their lives would widen 
into, or the dark fate that hung over them. 

Have you thought wisely in consenting to be my 
wife, Margaret?’^ he asked, as they walked slowly back, 
hand in hand, to the house. ^^Yoii know I am what 
the world calls a poor man; I have great ambition, I 
have great hopes in my inventions, still, I may be fol- 
lowing a chimera. They may amount to naught — then I 
should have only the prospects of this farm in the time to 
come. Would you love me as faithfully if I could not 
provide the luxuries for you which other women crave? 
CquM you consent to spend your life here with me, or go 
where I go — no matter how humble the life?’^ 

In all the after years, years of darkest sorrow and pain, 
he never forgot the sweet eyes raised to his, and the an- 
swer that fell from her tremulous lips. 

I say to you, Gerald, what Kuth said to her lover, 
she murmured softly: ^ Where thou goest I shall go, 

'Where thou stayest I shall stay, thy people shall be my 
people, and thy God my God; where thou diest 1 shall 
die, and there will I be buried.^ 

Sweetest Margaret,'^ he murmured, I should feel, 
myself a happy man to be blessed by so noble and true a 
love.’^ 

Mrs. Eomaine was delighted over their betrothal, and 
declared that matters were just as they should be, and 
that the dearest wish of her heart would be fulfilled when 
they were married. 

For three weeks Margaret was supremely happy, 
Gerald was a most devoted lover; there was one trait 
about his jicmcee that amused him vastly. There was 
no surfeiture of kisses in their case. Margaret believed 
that kisses were for a husband's lips, not for a lover’s — 
certainly an excellent example for young girls to follow. 

Those were the brightest days of Margaret’s life. How 
unutterably sweet the thought was to her that in a few, 
short fleeting months, when the spring flowers bloomed 
on the hillock again, she would be Gerald’s wife — his 
wife. It almost seemed to IMargaret thg-t it was too 
sweet a dream to ever become a reality. ^ 


THE BE A UTIFUL COQ UETTE. 


21 


Somehow she couM not write about it to Aurelia, 
lier nature was shy. It seemed too pure and sacred a 
subject for Aurelia to ridicule, as she certainly was apt 
to do; she would tell her about it when she came home. 

They were expecting her every day now. 

It had been three long years since she had parted from 
Aurelia, and her heart hungered for her. And it had 
been nearly twelve years since Gerald had seen Aurelia, 
and he had but a faint recollection of the face the por- 
trait in the best room represented. 

For a fortnight great preparations had been going on 
at the farmhouse in honor of Aurelia^s return, and at 
length the long-looked-for day and hour rolled around 
which was to bring her. 

It had been arranged that Gerald should drive over to 
the station to meet the train; but just as he was about 
to start, he received a telegram summoning him at once 
to New York, and he had barely time to catch his own 
train. Thus it devolved upon John Eomaine to take 
his soiFs place in the old-fashioned carry- all to go and 
meet Aurelia. 

And this brings us back, dear reader, to the opening 
scene in our first chapter. 

Margaret counted the moments with the utmost im- 
patience, until in the dim distance afar down the white 
serpentine road, she beheld the returning vehicle. 

In a fiash Margaret was at the gate; and in a few min- 
utes more the lumbering carry-all reached her, and 
without waiting for assistance, Aurelia Lancaster sprung 
out. 

For an instant Margaret was held fairly spell-bound 
— speechless; was this magnificent girl, with the daz- 
zling beauty of an hoitri, her sister Aurelia? Was there 
ever a more lovely creature than the one upon which her 
astonished eyes rested — from the dark, curly head, half 
concealed by the broad leghorn hat, with its drooping 
plumes, to the toe of the dainty kid boot that peeped 
out from beneath the skirts of her gray silk trailing 
cloak? The great cluster of deep-red passion roses she 
held in her hands completed the picture. 

As she gazed, a quick, sharp pain that made her faint 
as death for an instant shot through her heart — she could 


22 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


not even understand it then; in the dark after-days she 
realized what it meant too well. 

With a glad cry she reached Aurelia^s side and flung 
•her arms about her beautiful sister, straining her close 
to her heart, raining kisses on the rosy, dimpled cheeks, 
the crimson lips, and the white hands tliat held the 
roses. 

In return Aurelia gave her only one hasty kiss, and 
struggled desperately to get out of Margaret^s loving, in- 
circling arms. 

Goodness gracious! don^t crush me, Margaret,^^ she 
cried, do Jet me get my breath — you are wrinkling the 
ribbons of my coat all up.^^ 

Margaret quickly released her, drawing back, pale and 
shocked. 

Ob, Aurelia, are you not glad to be with us once 
again she cried, tremulously, tears coming to her blue 
eyes. 

Of course, returned Aurelia, impatiently; ^^but 
Fm tired, I want to get into the house out of this broil- 
ing sun.^^ 

Margaret followed her into the house silently — a little 
hurt. 

But no one could feel angry with i^urelia long; gay, 
audacious, Avillful, loving, she seemed to carry every 
heart with which she came in contact by storm, in spite 
of all efforts at resistance. 

Oh, dear, oh, dear, how can you endure life here, 
Margaret?’^ cried Aurelia that evening, when they found 
themselves alone. think I should die if I were 

forced to remain here. Is there no 3'oung gentlemen 
about 

Only one — Gerald Kornaine — he will return in a day 
or so; he was called toKew York to-day, as his mother 
told you,^^ said Margaret, blushing crimson. She was 
just about to reveal to her sister the sweet secret of what 
made her life so happy, when the next sentence that 
Aurelia uttered froze the words on her lips. 

Aurelia yawned. 

^^He will hardly pay to flirt with, unless one is des- 
perate,'"^ she said. What is he like? Is he good-look- 
ing or ugly? Can he make himself agreeable, or is he 
stupid? Is there anythihg romantic about him, or is he 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

a dull, prosaic, country fogy, stiff and proper? He was 
rather good-looking as a boy, if I remember him right, 
and the years he has spent at college ought to liave 
brought out whatever chic and dash there is in his. com- 
position. College fellows are a gay lot to flirt with.^'’ 
^^Stop!^^ cried Margaret, in a pained voice; oh, 
Aurelia, how can you talk so? I know you could not 
mean it — but it shocked me. Gerald is handsomer as a 
man than he was as a boy,^^ she went on falteringly, in 
a low voice; ^‘he is tall and fair. He would not flirt, 
Aurelia; Gerald is a man of honor — a gentleman.'’^ 

A gay, rollicking laugh broke from Aurelia^s red lips. 

Oh, Margaret, you little simpleton, how you amuse 
me,^^ she cried, gayly. Mr. Gerald Eomaine will not 
flirt? — well, we shall see about that. Til tell you what 
ni do, Margy,^^ she added, eagerly, leaning her dimpled 
chin upon her white hand; Til wager you that pink 
coral bracelet of mine, that you admire so much, that 
Gerald Eomaine falls desperately in love with me at first 
sight — all men do — and that I can flirt with him to my 
heart's content. There now, what do you say to that? 
No matter if ho ever cared for any one else. I could 
AVIlSr HIH FROM HER. '' 

Margaret could speak no word — her lips were stricken 
dumb. A sudden, awful horror filled her heart, that 
could never be put into words. Was the dread premoni- 
tion of coming evil, that, had seemed to settle over her 
within the last few hours, to take shape in this way? 
Only Heaven could have foretold. 

You would not try to win him from another, Aure- 
lia," said Margaret, huskily; ^^you are too noble for that, 
dear." 

"^Wouldn't I!" cried Aurelia, with a gay laugh. 
Why, that would make him all the more desirable 
prey in my eyes. If I find that he is handsome and 
worth the trouble, you shall see,^’ 

Margaret lifted her white face to the star-gemmed sky, 
her lips moved, but no sound fell from them. Her 
whole soul seemed to shrink from Aurelia. She would 
not tell her that she was to be Gerald's wife, and that 
she loved him so well that it would be death in life to 
her if he were taken from her. Not yet — no, not yet. 


24 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

She would wait and see, first, if Gerald’s love would not 
prove faithful and true. 


CHAPTER V. 

A MUTUAL ATTRACTION AT FIRST SIGHT. 

Aurelia Lancaster looked curiously at tlie face of 
the girl standing there before her, in the cold, bright 
moonlight. 

What was it that made Margaret look so unnaturally 
pale? She reminded her of a marble statue. 

Shall we go into the ho^se, Aurelia?” asked Mar- 
garet, shivering as with sudden chill. 

‘^No, indeed,” declared Aurelia, it is ever so much 
nicer out here in the moonlight, amongst the roses, and 
then we had just commenced to talk about such an in- 
teresting subject; let me see what it was — oh, yes, about 
Gerald Eomaine. I was telling you if I find him good- 
looking, you shall see how quickly he shall be made to 
fall in love with me. Don’t look at me in that shocked 
way, Margaret, it^is really too dreadful,” and Aurelia 
threw back her dark curly head and went olf into such 
a ringing peal of J ughter that it startled the birds from 
their nests in the bid apple-tree over her head. 

I am sure you do not mean it, dear; you are only jest- 
ing,” said Margaret, distressedly, the words sound so 
heartless, so cruel. One should never jest about a hu- 
man heart — or — or — about — love,” she added faltering- 
ly. could never do it.” 

Margaret, you are such a goody-goody creature that 
you will certainly be the death of me,” cried Aurelia, 
‘‘but of course it is all due to your vegetating here on 
this dull old farm. Why, at school I flirted with every 
male creature that crossed my path.” 

“ I thought MissHulburton did not allow such things?” 
cried Margaret, aghast. 

“Allow! Oh, Margy — what charming innocence — 
simplicity — it is distracting — but it actually amuses 
me,” declared Aurelia, her dimples rising like tricky 
sprites among the deepened roses on her cheeks. 
“Don’t you understand that it was our chief aim to do 
what we were not allowed? Men, I admit, were scarce. 


THE BE A UTIFUL COQ UETTE. 


25 


The German professor was engaged to one of the teachers; 
but 1 flirted with him until she nearly cried her eyes out, 
and after he had withstood me three whole months he 
surrendered at last. Then I told him I wouldnT marry 
him to save his life. The French teacher vowed that 
he couldiiT live without me, and the music-master fell 
so conspicuously in love with me that madam dismissed 
him and installed a regular termagant of an old maid, 
in green goggles, in his place. Oh, Margy, I had such 
fun with them.^^ 

Oh, my darling sighed Margaret, wistfully, 
hope you have not turned out to be as soulless as you 
are beautiful. Come, let us'go into the house. See, the 
dew is falling; how heavy it lies on the flowers and the 
green leaves.'’^ 

With a yawn Aurelia followed her sister, and in less 
than half an hour after she was sleeping the sleep of 
youth, which knows no thought, no care, with her pink, 
flushed cheek, swept by those long, curling lashes, lying 
against her white, rounded arm, and the dark-brown 
curls sweeping like a veil over the white pillow. 

For long hours Margaret stood by the window, looking 
up at the golden stars and the white clouds scurrying 
across the night sky — looked without seeing — for her 
thoughts were elsewhere. 

will trust blindly in his love,^^ the girl said slowly 
to herself, clasping her white hands over her beating 
heart. I feel sure his affection can never swerve. I 
am his betrothed wife; surely I must have faith in him. 
But — Aurelia is so beautiful, and I — am — so plain 

That night, for the first time in all the years of her 
life, Margaret fell asleep with her blue eyes drowned in 
tears, and she dreamed troubled dreams. Was it a fore- 
warning of what the future would be like? 

Margaret was up with the sun the next morning, 
despite the lateness of the hour when she had retired the 
previous night. 

Mrs. Eomaine stopped with her churning and looked 
up as the girl entered the room. Her quick eyes detected 
in a moment how pale the fair face had grown. 

‘‘Did you sit up late last night, Margaret?^’ she ques- 
tioned, solicitously — “you look so tired this morning.^^ 

“A little later than usual, the girl confessed. 


26 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

All through the breakfast Mrs. Eomaine noticed tliat 
there was something on Margaret^s mind. Even John 
Eomaine noticed that she was unusually quiet, and taxed 
her with it. 

was just thinking of asking a favor of you and 
Aunt Eachel/^ she replied, quietly. ^^You must not 

question my motive, nor 

‘^You can consider it granted beforehand, Margy,^^ 
broke in John Eomaine, cheerily. I couldn^t refuse 
you anything you had set your heart on, and you ought 
to know it by this time, little girl."^^ 

‘^It is only this,^^ replied Margaret, in a low voice. 
I — I want my betrothal kept a — a — secret from Aurelia 
for a little while yet;^^ adding, nervously, — I — want 

you both to promise me you will not divulge it to her.-’^ 
Farmer Eomaine looked at Margaret in unfeigned as- 
tonishment. Mrs. Eomaine laughed heartily. 

If there^s one thing m this world that puzzles me 
it^s wimmen,^^ he declared, looking in bewilderment at 
Margaret. ‘^However, Fm perfectly willing to humor 
your whim. Fll say nothing about it."^’ 

Mrs. Eomaine’s consent was quite as easily gained. 

AVhatever Margaret wished done, was always right 
and proper to do,^^ she argued. 

It was late when Aurelia put in an appearance; she 
came dancing into the old kitchen like a veritable sun- 
beam, and before nightfall everybody about the farm- 
house had declared it was quite a different place since 
Miss Aurelia had come back. Gray, variable as April 
sunshine, all felt the subtile influence of her presence, 
and worshiped her on sight. 

It pleased Margaret to see her so idolized, but her 
pleasure was mixed with one great fear — would Gerald^s 
heart go out to beautiful Aurelia, as the hearts of all the 
others had gone out to her? 

And the pale lips murmured over and over again: 

Heaven will keep him true to me— he is all I have.'’^ 
That night passed much as the previous one, and 
again on the morrow Margaret rose early, for this was 
the day of Gerald^s return. He would reach the farm 
early in the afternoon. 

The noon meal was over, and both girls rose from the 
table simultaneously. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

^MVIiat are you going to do with yourself, Margy, to 
kill time?’^ queried Aurelia. 

I — I have something very important to do/^ replied 
Margaret, with a deep blush. 

I think I'll take a book and go down to the orchard 
and read,^^ declared Aurelia; adding, petulantly: I 
think it would make me desperate to live this kind of a 
life, Margy — I should die of ennui, I have only been 
here two days, but it seems two years.'’' 

youkl busy yourself with work, like your sister 
does, you wouldn^’t find time hanging so heavily on your 
hands,^^ said Mrs. Eomaine,sharpiy, looking at the petu- 
lant little beauty over the rim of her spectacles. 

The lovely red lips curled scornfully. •' 

Margy loves to work; I don’t,^^ said Aurelia, tossing 
back her dark, curly head; and, everyone to her fancy. 
Aunt Eomaine. I like a butterfly life — I donT see why 
I wasn't born one — resting on rose-leaves, flitting about 
in a sunshiny world, that is full of laughter and 
leisure.'’^ 

You are just about as useless as one, my dear,^^ de- 
clared Mrs. Eornaine, adding, emphatically: Book- 

learnin'’ may be a good thing, but all the fine schoolin^ 
you got — and it cost a heap o^ money — liainT put mucli 
sense in your head, that's certain. The idea of a sensible 
young woman wish in’ she had been born a butterfly! 
Good Lord! Who ever heard o’ the like!” 

I thought you said that I was not sensible,” said 
Aurelia, with a gay, malicious little laugh. And with 
this parting shot she caught up her book and sun-hat, 
and danced merrily out of the old farmhouse kitchen, 
in the direction of the orchard that lay beyond. 

Meanwhile Margaret walked slowly through the wav- 
ing corn-fields, in the direction of the main road. There 
Avas an old-fashioned stile, which separated the farm 
from the road, and when Margaret reached this she 
paused. 

I shall not liave to wait long,” she murmured, glanc- 
ing eagerly at the sun-dial hard by; ^•'Gerald Avill be 
here very soon now.” 

Even as she spoke she caught sight of a moving figure 
in the dim distance. She knew, she felt by the way her 


28 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

heart began to beat, that it was he for whom she 
watched and waited. 

It was quite three miles to the station, but Gerald Eo- 
maine would have laughed at the idea of sending the 
buggy over to him; five times that distance would have 
been nothing for him to have walked. 

The advancing figure came nearer and nearer with 
great swinging strides — so near now that Margaret could 
see his face. Yes, it was Gerald. 

The girhs face flushed and paled, and she clasped her 
hands nervously over her heart to stop its wild, glad throb- 
bing. 

How dearly I love him,^^ she said to herself, the 
smile deepening on her lips; how much, only Heaven 
knows.^^ 

By the time Gerald Eomaine approached, the flush had 
faded from her face, the wild heart beats had died down 
— only the sweet, rare smile remained on her faif face — 
the same quiet smile that aways greeted him. 

Margaret!^^ he exclaimed, hurrying eagerly for- 
ward, finding you here to welcome me is indeed a sur- 
prise. 

He had gained her side, and, stooping down, laid his 
lips lightly, carelessly, upon the white forehead of the 
fair face upturned to him, and clasped in both of his her 
extended hand. 

^^It cannot be possible that you have missed me?^^ he 
said, laughing. 

think I have, Gerald,’^ she answered in a low voice, 
^^but that is not what brings me here; I — I — wanted to 
have a little talk with you.*^^ 

As long as you like, dear,^"' he said. It was the first 
time he had ever uttered the word dear,^^ to her, and 
Margeret never forgot the sound of it on his lips. 

Shall it be here, Margaret?^^ he asked. 

No,^^ she said a little nervously, we will walk 
slowly to the house and talk as we go.”^^ 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


29 


CHAPTEE VI. 

THE HEAKT OF 

Margaret and Gerald walked on, hand in liand to- 
gether in their utter silence, for a moment. 

You wanted to talk to me, Margy,^Mie said smiling- 
ly, ^*but you seem in no hurry to begin. 

I wanted to tell you, first of all, Gerald, that Aure- 
lia has come,'’^ she said, raising her shy sweet eyes to his. 

^MVhy, to be sure, so she must have,^^ said Gerald. 
‘^1 declare I actually forgot to ask you about it — of 
course you are delighted to have her with you again. 
But I do hope,^^ he went on carelessly, that her com- 
ing will not interfere with our pleasant rambles; you are 
so devotedly attached to Aurelia.-’^ 

Thank God that he will be faithful and true to me,'^ 
thought Margaret, looking up at the silent heavens; she 
had forgotten that he had not yet seen Aurelia. 

^‘1 suppose she is quite a fine lady,^^ he pursued — 
young girls just home from boarding-school always 
imagine themselves that — and farm life will be dull for 
her. Is she looking well?^^ 

You shall soon judge for yourself,’^ said Margaret, 
wistfully. 

^^This is what I wanted to speak to you about, Gerald 
— I have a favor to ask of you, which you must grant; 
and without asking my reason. 

Consider the promise given beforehand, Margaret; 
you know you could ask no favor that I would not grant 
if it lay within my power.^^ 

Still she hesitated. 

You know you may speak to me freely, Margaret, 
he added earnestly — why do you hesitate?"^ 

‘‘1 am afraid my request will seem strange, Gerald, 
she faltered — ^^but I — I — want you to promise compli- 
ance with that which I ask — simply to please me.*^^ 

You arouse my curiosity wonderfully, Margy,” he 
declared. 

It is only this which I want you to promise me, Ger- 
ald, she said, the color coming and going swiftly on her 
cheeks, that you will not let Aurelia know of our be- 
trothal just yet. Promise me, Gerald, that you will not. 


^0 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

I have made the same request of your father and motlier, 
and — to — to— please me they have agreed to — to — say 
nothing about it/^ 

Do you know, Margaret/^ he said, looking at her 
keenly, that I always believed you incapable of keep- 
ing one single thought back from one whom you loved? 
you surprise me; of course I will not mention it to her if 
you say so; anyhow I should suppose you would like to 
break anything of that kind to your sister yourself. Of 
course, I promise you, to please you, Margaret, I shall 
not mention it until you wish me to do so. Does that 
satisfy you?^" 

Yes,^^ she answered tremulously, and the little hand 
that he still held clasped in his, trembled slightly. 

^^Oome around by the orchard and I will present you 
to Aurelia; she is reading there under the trees; you 
know she has not seen you since you were a boy — she 
would not remember you — come, Gerald. 

‘^"Kot just yet, Margaret,^'' he said, quickly; ^^why, I 
have had hardly a moment to talk to you; I want to tell 
you of my trip to New York, and the result of it.^^ 

They walked up and down together an hour under the 
trees, while he told her of his hopes and future plans, 
and that. Heaven help her, was the happiest hour of 
Margaret Lancaster’s life. As Gerald talked to her, her 
hopes rose like a fairy air-ship. Ah, how mad she had 
been to let the cruel cloud of doubt overcast her sky 
even for a moment. He would be loyal to her to the 
heart’s core, her noble Gerald. 

He had never shown much demonstration of afPection, 
but then it was not his nature to be demonstrative; still, 
he must love her, a man surely mvst have a deep, true 
love for the young girl whom he asks to be his wife,” she 
said to herself. 

At length they turned toward the house, and their 
way led through the orchard. 

They were talking earnestly together, as they walked 
along under the trees, both absorbed in the conversation, 
when suddenly Gerald Eomaine stopped short, riveted 
to the spot — the words he was uttering died on his lips, 
he forgot to finish the sentence. 

Eaising his eyes suddenly, as he advanced, he had 
caught sight of Aurelia, and Gerald Eomaine stood still 


31 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

with surprise, and the heart of the girl by his side turned 
cold as she saw the passionate admiration in his face, 
lie stood like one fascinated, unconscious of everything 
around him but the dazzling brilliancy and the exquis- 
ite beauty of the girl before him. 

lie saw a slight, girlish form in a pink mull dress, 
standing under an old apple-tree; her face was turned 
slightly toward them, and her two arms — white, rounded, 
and beautiful — from which the pink sleeve fell half way, 
were upraised, and the little white fingers were breaking 
off sprays of white blossoms from the down-drooping 
boughs. 

Gerald Eomaine^s eyes traveled from that slim, perfect 
form, which would have charmed a sculptor, to the 
girFs exquisite face — dark, dimpled, and sparkling — 
with a flush on the cheek and lips like the crimson heart 
of a red wild rose, crowned in dark, curling hair, and 
eyes so dark, dazzling and intense, that, as she turned 
them on him in a startled way, the glance fairly took 
his breath away. The heart in his bosom seemed to 
throb with a new sensation — a sense of pleasure so great, 
it was almost pain. 

Margaret looked into Gerald^s flushed face arid 
kindling eyes, and her own face grew white to the lips 
with the horrible fear that had seized her. 

She controlled herself by the greatest effort, and taking 
Gerald by the hand, advanced. 

^^Aurelia,^^ she said, and the sound of her voice was so 
weird, she wondered that they did not notice it, this is 
Gerald, the playmate of our childhood; surely you have 
not forgotten him?’^ 

Aurelia took a step forward, her red lips parting in a 
dazzling smile as she held out her slim white hand. She 
gave him one glance from those great wine-dark, wonder- 
ful eyes, and he never afterward had a distinct idea of 
what she said, or how he answered her. 

^^Let us sit down here on the grass, in the shade of 
this old tree and chat,^^ said Aurelia, and without turn- 
ing to ask Margarets pleasure in the matter, he flung 
himself straightway at the beauty^s feet. 

^^Sit down, Margy,^^ said Aurelia in her sweetest 
voice; while Gerald and I chat over old times, I sup- 


‘^2 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

pose it is the proper thing to do — to call you Gerald. 
Mr, Eomaine sounds so awfully formal.’^ 

call me Gerald/’ he cried, eagerly, and he had to 
check himself from adding impulsively: ^^The name 
never sounded so sweet on woman’s lips before.” 

He seemed to quite forget that Margaret was standing 
there. 

‘^Do sit down, Margy,” repeated Aurelia, gayly; and, 
although Gerald did not second the invitation, Margaret 
sat down. 

An hour passed, and still the conversation was kept 
up between Gerald and Aurelia with unflagging interest. 
Once or twice Gerald turned to Margaret with some 
commonplace remark, but at one bright smile from 
Aurelia he instantly forgot her again. 

Ah, he never looked at her with eyes like that, nor 
was his manner so impassioned or eager. This was a 
phase of Gerald’s nature that was new to Margaret. 
Still, for all that, she made excuses for him in her 
thoughts. No woman liked to believe that her empire 
over the heart she craves, and which in time past has 
loved her, is completely over. No, she will not bring 
herself to believe it until the knowledge is forced upon 
her. 

Margaret tried to convince herself that Gerald was 
trying to make himself agreeable to Aurelia for duty’s 
sake. 

At length an interruption came, in the shape of a 
message for Aurelia, from the farmhouse, that Mrs. 
Eomaine wanted her. 

Aurelia arose at once, shaking the white blossoms 
from her lap, tossing them all in a shower over Gerald, 
with the sweetest, gayest laugh in the world, and hur- 
ried away, leaving Gerald and Margaret sitting there 
alone. 

Would he turn to her eagerly, glad that they were 
alone together again? No; his eyes followed the slim, 
girlish form flitting over the clover meadow, and his 
whole heart was in that gaze; and there was a dreamy, 
musing smile on his lips. 

Margaret saw him raise one of the white apple blos- 
soms that had fallen on his breast to his lips. She 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


33 


touched him on the arm, and that gentle touch recalled 
him to himself. He started violently. 

not Aurelia beautiful?^^ she asked. 

As beautiful as a poet^s dream — the very embodi- 
ment of girlish love]iness,^’he declared,and as bespoke his 
cheeks flushed, and his eyes kindled again. ‘‘How 
strange it seems to me, Margaret,^Mie went on musingly, 
“ that you and Aurelia are twin sisters; you are no more 
alike than sunshine and shadow. 

“ Which is like shadow, Gerald?’^ she asked in a low 
voice. He looked greatly confused; the words had 
sprung from his lips unconsciously. 

“ Your sister is like the restless sunshine — you are like 
the cool, sweet, restful shade. She is so gay one would 
realize that she was but a thoughtless schoolgirl of 

seventeen, yoit are so wise — so calm — so sensible 

Ah, well, why follow up comparisons where both are so 
perfect, each in her own way. Come, Margaret, let us 
go into the house — it is tiresome sitting here.*^^ 

On the way back to the house he talked of Aurelia — 
nothing but Aurelia. 

We must have our usual mooolight ramble to-night, 
Margaret, ^Mie said, adding eagerly, “and perhaps you 
can get Aurelia to join us, do try.^^ 

Aurelia went with them, and the hour that followed 
was but a repetition of the afternoon scene; Aurelia en- 
joyed it — there was but one heavy heart amongst the 
trio, and that beat in Margaret^s breast. 

“ This, said Gerald, as he parted from them that 
night, “has been the happiest day of mylife.-^^ 

Aurelia blushed — Margaret^s face grew as white as 
the white roses on the clambering vines outside the 
window. 


CHAPTEll VII. 

• “OH, CONSTANCY, THOU ART A JEWEL."’" 

“ Margaret,"’ cried Aurelia, wlien the two girls found 
themselves alone together that night, “ how does it hap- 
pen that in describing Gerald Eomaine to me, you never 
told me how very agreeable he was?"" 


34 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


am very glad you find him so^ dear/^ replied Mar- 
garet, trying to smile. 

wonder, too,^^ Aurelia went on, ‘^that knowing 
such a man, you have never fallen in love with him. You 
must be as unimpressionable as marble. But then, per- 
haps, he is not your ideal.^^ 

‘^Is he your ideal asked Margaret, quickly, 
likeliim better than anybody J have seen so 
declared Aurelia, but I cannot say whether I should 
like him well enough to marry him — or not.^^ 

You must not think about — marrying him — until — 
he asks you,^^ responded Margaret, in a very low, husky 
voice. 

^'He is sure to do that very soon,^^ declared Aurelia, 
laughing a low, soft laugh.^ Why, Margy, did you not 
see?^^ 

See what?^^ asked Margaret, in a voice more husky 

still. 

Why, that he was in love with me from the first mo- 
ment that we met! 1 feel it — I am sure of it. Don^t 
look so terribly shocked. I do actually believe he could 
have asked me to marry him then and there. I saw it 
in his eyes."^^ 

Margaret listened with a face pale, but calm, though 
the fiery lashes of a whip could not have stung her more 
than those thoughtless words Aurelia had uttered. Was 
his love for her so weak that it could die at sight of a 
fairer face? No, she would not — she could not believe 
it. 

For long hours after tlie rest of the inmates of the 
farmhouse were asleep, Gerald Eomaine paced the or- 
chard to and fro, smoking his cigar — and thinking. 

I cannot imagine what is coming over me,^’ he mut- 
tered, impatiently, stopping short under the trees. 
cannot rest — I cannot eat — cannot sleep. Life seems all 
different with me since — this afternoon.^’ 

In one moment a star has fallen from heaven — in one 
moment earthquakes have destroyed fair cities — in one 
moment Gerald Romaine had awakened from the indif- 
ference which was wrapped like a mantle about his heart 
to the first throb of real love his heart had ever known, 
as he stood there transfixed in the orchard, his eyes 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 35 

riveted for the first time upon the glorious beauty of 
Aurelia Lancaster. 

lie thouglit it was admiration that thrilled through 
his heart with such an electric shock; he never dreamed 
it was love — he would never have owned it — he would 
have been the first to den} it most bitterly, and would 
have believed in his own denial; but all the same it was 
perfectly true that when he first looked into Aurelia’s 
dazzling face, he loved her with a love that was his 
doom. 

He walked up and down under the trees, asking him- 
self what could be the meaning of these strange sensa- 
tions that had taken possession of him — the fever that 
flushed his face when he thought of Aurelia’s dark bright 
eyes, and the cold that froze him and gave him a fore- 
taste of the bitterness of death when he said to himself 
that it was because he was to be her future — brother. 

When he closed his eyes in sleep that night his last 
thought was of Aurelia — when he opened his eyes the 
next morning, he found her name on his lips — he had 
been dreaming of her. 

The summer days glided on, and at Romaine Farm 
a strange drama in real life was being enacted. Two 
hearts were blithe and gay enough — and one was break- 
ing. 

There was no more rambles alone over the pink clover 
fields for Gerald and Margaret, for he was always anxious 
that Aurelia should come with them, and Margaret 
wrapped herself in a mantle of pride, making no com- 
plaint. 

One incident happened at last that changed the whole 
course of the three lives of those who were drifting on so 
swiftly and so surely to the brink of a precipice, and it 
happened in this way: 

They had gone out for a row on the water one moon- 
light night, and at Aurelia’s suggestion they headed their 
skiff for a little island lying down the river afar out in 
midstream. 

What a regular Eden,” cried Aurelia, springing out 
of the boat, disdaining Gerald’s eager hand; what a de- 
lightful spot for a picnic — do let us explore it.” 

Not to-night,” said Margaret, I feel tired, my head 
aches.’' 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

81 ie might have added, too, with truth, and rny heart 
pains worse than my head/^ 

Sit down and rest here, Margaret, said Gerald, 
eagerly, ^^and if Aurelia is so anxious to see the island, 
I will show her around it — you shall rest/^ 

Do you really wish to show her around, and — and 
leave me here?’^ faltered Margaret, in a low voice. 

Yes,^^ he asserted eagerly, you shall not tire your- 
self. We will manage without you, I feel quite sure. 

Margaret sank down upon a mossy stone, and it was 
not until the sound of their gay, laughing voices were 
lost in the distance that she gave herself up to the full 
abandon of her grief, laying her face down upon the 
cold stone and sobbing as though her gentle heart would 
break. 

She was beginning to see matters as they really were — 
the scales of blinded delusion were falling from her eyes 
at last. 

Was this the end of her dream of a happy home and a 
loving husband, who was to love her better than the 
whole world beside? Had he loved her with so feeble 
an apology of atfection that it had died out of his heart 
when he saw the fair face of Aurelia? If so, what was 
such a love worth? 

Had she tasted happiness but to lose it? Had she 
dreamed a love-dream but to waKe and find it vanished? 
Ah, Heaven! she had been so unspeakably happy, and 
now, without warning, the cup of happiness had been 
dashed from her lips — the blissHil delusion had been dis- 
pelled. 

In her despair she realized how much she loved him 
as she knelt there lonely, weeping, broken-hearted. 
Was it fair because Aurelia had the brightness of the 
stars in her eyes, and lilies and roses in her dimpled 
cheeks and curved lips, that she should take her lover 
from her? Was it fair that he should go off so happily 
with Aurelia, while she sat there neglected, stretching 
out her arms to empty air? 

An hour passed slowly by, and yet another dragged its 
slow length along, and yet Gerald and Aurelia had not 
returned to her. Margaret was terrified at being left so 
long alone, and called aloud to them at length. Surely 
she would hear her voice wherever they were, the island 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

was not so large, but only the echo of her own voice came 
back to her. Again she called to them, but with the 
same result, and with a nameless fear in her heart that 
could not be shaped into words, she started out to search 
for them. Surely this was but a cruel jest — if they in- 
tended it for that — to tease her. 

She made a tour of the entire island, calling them as 
she hurried along. At last she reached the spot where 
the boat had been tied. One glance, and then a great 
cry of terror broke from her ashen lips — the hoat loas 
gone! She threw up her white hands, and, without a 
moan, sunk down on the very brink of the tide-washed 
sands in a deep faint. 

Slowly the tide rose, creeping nearer and nearer to the 
stark, white, upturned face, framed in its pale, curling 
hair. It would not be long ere those curling, feathery 
waves would creep over that still, white face, and shut 
it out from the gaze of the pitying moon— for the water 
was rising higher and higher. 

Owing to the recent heavy freshets thereabouts, the 
river was swollen. It was no unusual thing for the little 
island to be completely submerged for days at this season 
of the year. 

But to return to Gerald Komaine and Aurelia. 

They had wandered over the island, and he had pointed 
out to her every beautiful nook about the place, until at 
last she grew tired of the rough, uneven paths. 

^^If you would but lean on me, Aurelia,^^ he breathed, 
gently, ^^or sit down liere and rest awhile, and let me 
talk to you.^^ 

‘‘There is the boat down there; I would rather sit in 
that,^^ she answered. 

Gerald was only too eager to obey her slightest wish. 
In helping her into the boat he had held her in his arms 
for one brief instant, and the sweet passion maddened 
him. 

An uncontrollable longing came to him to have her all 
to himself for a few brief moments, to talk to her. If 
he could but sit with her hands clasped in his for a little 
while, earth could hold no greater bliss for him. 

He was not strong enough to withstand the sweet 
temptation. 

“ I will untie the boat and we will drift with the tide 


88 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

a few yards down the stream/^ he said; ^^you shall take 
a lesson in rowing back, if you will/^ 

To this Aurelia agreed, and the little boat with its two 
occupants was soon floating swiftly down the stream with 
the tide. 

It was so sweet to sit there alone with this girl whom 
he had learned to idolize so madly — in the bright white 
moonlight, and watch her dazzling, beautiful face, and 
the little white hands trailing idly through the waters in 
which the stars danced as golden as in the night sky 
overhead which reflected them. Her beauty fairly be- 
witched him. 

Who has not known the delights of lovers^ hours that 
flit by swift-winged? What lover counts them, or knows 
how they have passed? They seemed like moments glid- 
ing by, sweet and bright as a beautiful dream. 

He gave himself up to the magic witchery of the hour; 
he bent nearer Aurelia, and drew her little white hand 
from the dimpling waves, and the thought pulsed madly 
through his brain: Ah, would that he could hold it 
clasped thus, forever and forever. We wondered if, had 
he been free, he could ever have won the love of a peer- 
less girl like this. If — ^he — had — but been free! Great 
Heaven! that thought brought him with a shock to— 
Margaret. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

^^TAKE MY AI^SWER WITH YOU THROUGH LTFE.^’ 

He would spend just flve minutes more with Aurelia 
ere he turned the boat around to go back for Margaret, 
Gerald told himself. It would be but a few blissful mo- 
ments stolen out of a fleeting lifetime — why should he 
deny himself that comfort? 

It was delightful to sit there holding those slim, white 
hands, listening to her gay laughter and ready wit, look- 
ing into the heaven of those dark, wondrous eyes. 

To Aurelia it was pleasant to float down with the tide, 
listening to the low-breathed words of this handsome 
young fellow, whose every look, every action told her 
how madly he was in love with her. 

What should you do, Gerald,^^ she asked, laughing. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 39 

ly, the skiff should overturn in this, the deepest 
part of the water? Would you make for the shore and 
save yourself, or 

Aurelia, ^Mie cut in hurriedly, drawing back from 
her with a white, pained face, can it be possible you 
think so meanly of me as that? Why, darling!’^ he 
cried, huskily, forgetting in the intensity of the thought, 
the endearing language that fell from his lips, would 
save your life at the risk of my own.’^ 

In preference to saving that of any one else in 
the whole wide world ?’^ questioned Aurelia, in a low 
voice. 

Yes,^^ he answered, drawing her toward him. 

^^Why?^^ she whispered, giving him another glance 
from those wine-dark eyes that no man had ever re- 
sisted. 

The spell of the moment carried him away; he threw 
prudence to the winds, and answered her from the very 
depths of his heart: 

Because I love you! yes, I love you, AureliaT^ he 
cried; I love you so well that if I could not save you 
I would want to die with you.^^ 

And, as he spoke, he caught her in his arms and kissed 
the lovely mouth, the dark eyes and dazzling face, re- 
peating over and over again that he loved her better than 
life itself, and begging her to tell him that she cared for 
him just a little in return. 

Aurelia struggled out of his arms with a saucy little 
laugh. 

^^Well, if you do love me, donT quite crush me,^’ she 
cried. 

But tell me, Aurelia, do you — can you ever care for 
me?^^ he urged. You must tell me, darling.-*^ 

1^11 have to make up my mind whether I do or not, 
and ni tell you 

When?'^ he cuts in eagerly again. 

Perhaps to-morrow, she answers, her vanity flatter- 
ed by the eagerness in his face, but the next instant the 
smile on her lips gives place to a sort of gasp. ‘^Look, 
Gerald she cries in consternation, ^Mook! there is the 
farmhouse — we are miles away from the island — and 
Margaret 


40 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


Gerald grew white to the lips. Great Heaven! liow 
completely he had forgotten Margaret. • 

It seemed to him that all in a moment he had fallen 
from the heights of heaven to earth. He glanced at his 
watch in the clear bright moonlight, and saw that near- 
ly two hours had passed. 

There is but one thing to do, Aurelia/^ he said hur- 
riedly, and that is to leave you here at the* house and 
go back myself after your — your sister.^’ 

To this Aurelia readily agreed. 

As he helped her out of the boat, holding her in his 
arms an instant again, he could not resist the impulse, 
strong as life itself, to press her to his heart and mur- 
mur hoarsely: 

I — I must see you alone, to-morrow morning, in the 
orchard, Aurelia. J — I have something to tell you.^^ 

Gerald Eomaine watched the little slim figure, until 
she reached the house; then, springing into the skiff 
and picking up the oars, with a few rapid strokes from 
his strong, muscular arms, he was soon shooting up- 
stream again. He hardly took time to catch his breath 
until he sighted the island, and a few moments later 
reached it. 

Springing out hurriedly he secured his boat, and 
dashed up the sands in search of Margaret. 

That she was not where he had left her, it took him 
but a moment to discover. 

He called loudly upon her name, but no voice an- 
swered him. 

Had she learned that she had been left alone here, and, 
through terror, thrown herself into the water? No — 
no, Margaret was not a girl to commit suicide, no mat- 
ter how great her fear had been. 

How distressed Gerald was now, to think that he was 
the cause of all this trouble. 

Just as he Avas about giving up the search, and sit 
doAvn and try to think clearly what had best be done, he 
heard a low moan scarcely a rod^s distance from him, 
and hurrying at once in the direction from whence it 
had proceeded, he saw Margaret slowly rising from her 
knees to her feet, and press her hands to her head in an 
uncertain way. 

In an instant he was by her side. 


41 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

Margaret/^ he cried, distressedly wliat can I say 
to you? — censure me in your own heart — you must — that 
is all my fault — I am sorrier than words can tell. Oh, 
Margaret, can you ever forgive me for this?'^ 

She stood quietly beside him, like a marble statue. 

Tell me how it was that you happened to leave me here 
so long,^^ she said, and where is Aurelia and the un- 
natural sound of her voice startled even herself. 

Come with me to the boat, Margaret,” he said, ^^and 
I will tell you, I will keep nothing back from you.” 

Tell me here and now, Gerald,” she said, and I ask 
you again, where is Aurelia?” 

He moved uneasily, and his eyes fell under her steady 
gaze. 

Then it all came out — how he had taken Aurelia into 
the boat, to drift a little way with the tide, and the ti?ne 
flew by unheeded, until, glancing up, they found the;)- 
selves opposite the farmhouse, where Aurelia had : ' 
mained, and he had^ hurried baek quickly after her. 
added that he felt himself an arrant coward, and that rii> 
words — nothing could excuse what he had done. 

While you were with Aurelia you absolutely forgot 
me — is that it, Gerald?” she asked. You must tell 
me the truth — you forgot my very existence — is it so?” 

It was so, Margaret,” he admitted, huskily. 

She looked into his face, and it almost seemed to him 
that he could see her soul leave her body. 

I know,” she faltered, as she permitted him to place 
her in the boat — I know what you are going to tell me 
next. I read it in your eyes. You have learned to love 
Aurelia, Gerald. Tell me all about it,” she said, husk- 
ily. ^^Be quick, that I may know the worst.” 

Listen to me, Margaret,” he said, and believe me 
that I hate myself as I speak — that I would give the 
world, were it mine, to free myself from the odium, in 
your eyes, that must ever cling to me; you ask me for 
the truth, I cannot keep it back from you. Yes, it is 
my misfortune to love Aurelia.” 

Margaret did not cry out, or utter any moan, though 
the sword had fallen and pierced her heart. The terrible 
calm of her face and the intentness of her gaze fright- 
ened her. He had read the story once of a young girl 
who had lost her reason because her lover grew cold, and. 


42 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

told her he loved her no longer. Was Margaret going 
mad? If she had said something, reproached him with 
bitter words, it would not have been so terrible to endure 
as this awful silence, broken only by the wash of tlie 
waves as the boat glided down the stream. 

Tell me about it,^^ she said again; keep nothing 
from me. Does Aurelia — my sister — love — you?^^ 

Yes,^^ he said, and she saw his face flush and his eyes 
brighten. I am sure she does/^ 

He was ashamed to tell his story, yet something seemed 
to urge him on. 

^^Let me tell you, Margaret,^^ he cried huskily, all 
about it. From the time I asked you to be my wife, up 
to one short fortnight ago, I had every intention of 
being true to you; my heart was true to you, so were 
my thoughts. When I came home from New York I 
had no other plan in life, no other desire than to come 
home and marry you and settle down to quiet happiness, 
[t is hard for a man to confess a weakness; I am 
ashamed to own mine. You remember the day I came 
home, how we crossed the clover flelds together. I had 
no thought of treachery to you, but the moment my eyes 
rested on Aurelia^s face I fell madly in love with her, 
and then, in that moment, I knew that I had never 
really loved you. The flerce, maddening love that 
thrilled through my heart in a single instant, as my eyes 
met Aurelia's, differed from my calm affection for you, 
as a seething torrent differs from a mountain brook. 
Do not think I yielded without a struggle; no man 
ever fought a harder fight with himself than I did to 
conquer that love, but it was useless. The more I saw 
her, the more I loved her. I was powerless to resist it. 
Now you know all, Margaret," he went on huskily, and 
if you say that I must keep my promise and marry you, 
I will do so, but you will know that though I stood at 
the altar with you, my heart would be Aurelia's. I leave 
my fate in your hands." 

What is it that you expect me to do — to say, 
Gerald?" she asked, her face growing whiter and whiter 
still. 

Oh, Margaret, why do you make me say these cruel 
words?" he cried. Why does not your own instinct 
tell you.^" 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 43 

^^You wish me to give you back your freedom, is 
that it, Gerald? Let me hear the words from your 
lips/^ 

If you think best, Margaret,^ he murmured, bury- 
ing his face in his hands, for he could not endure the 
steady calm of those eyes, that seemed burning into his 
very soul. 

With a wild cry she flung herself face downward in the 
bottom of the boat. 

My God! My GodT^ he heard her cry. 

He would fain have raised her and shielded the tremb- 
ling figure in his arms. He did not love her, but he 
would have kissed the tears from her face. The sound 
of those terrible sobs pierced his heart with pain sharp- 
er than that of a two-edged sword. 

Do not touch me,^^ she cried, as he bent over her, 

do not touch me or I shall dieT^ 

The most terrible moments of his life were those he 
spent in listening to the passionate weeping of the girl 
who loved liim so well, and whose heart he was breaking. 

The terrible sobs died away at last, and Gerald^s own 
eyes wore dim with tears. He almost felt like a mur- 
derer as he stood there, not daring to touch her, but as 
the passionate sobs grew fainter, he raised her and placed 
her on the seat beside him, and this time she did not 
resist. 

Margaret,^^ he said gently, am so grieved! I 
had hoped you would not feel it so keenly. 

With the greatest effort of her life she turned to him. 

I can listen to you now again,^^ she said. You were 
asking me — what was it? Say it once more, that I may 
feel sure it is not some horrible dream from which I will 

awaken presently ^ Ah, yes, I remember, you, the 

lover whom I have loved so well, whom I was so soon to 
call husband — you are asking me to give you up — because 
you have learned to love another. Listen, Gerald Eo- 
maine,^^ she cried, rising slowly to her feet in the rock- 
ing boat. '^Listen! Take my answer through life with 
y3ur 


44 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


CHAPTER IX. 

FAIR OF FACE, AND FALSE OF HEART. 

In an instant Gerald Eomaine had sprung forward 
and grasped the girPs hands. 

^‘For the love of Heaven sit down, Margaret!^’ he 
cried hoarsely. He quite believed she intended to leap 
from the rocking boat into the dark, swirling river. 

You had better take time to think over the matter 
calmly, Margaret, he said, and give me my answer 
to-morrow.^^ 

She turned her white, wistful face toward him, and 
Gerald Eomaine was startled by it. Years could not 
have aged it more in passing over her than this one hour 
of anguish had done. 

She held up her slender, white hand with a quick 
gesture. 

^^As well now as at any other time, Gerald, she said, 
in a very faint, quivering voice. ‘^It is best to have it 
over with now. I — I could not endure a repetition of 
this — never again. You ask me to set you free, Gerald 
— to break for you the solemn pledge that binds you to 
me — forgetting that a betrothal vow is as solemn and 
binding in the sight of God as a marriage vow.'’^ 

leave my fate in your hands, Margaret. If you 
say that I must* keep my engagement and marry you, I 
will do so. Oh, it grieves me to speak the truth, but it 
must be told — we should never be happy, for my heart 
would be Aurelia^s.^^ 

May Heaven, in its mercy, spare me from ever marry- 
ing a man whose heart is another’s, breathed Margaret, 
adding, faintly: ^^I — I — give you back your freedom, 
Gerald. From this hour our lives part forever.’^ 

But the forever’^ which would part him from 
Margaret would give him Aurelia, and that thouglit 
shone plainly enough in his eyes. 

Oh, Margaret, he cried, gratefully, ^^how generous 
you are — how noble!^^ and he bent his fair, handsome 
head eagerly over the little white hands he held. 

You might have spared me that!’’ she said, in a low, 
intensive voice, drawing her hands haughtily from his 
clasp. ^^Do not let me see how pleased you are; it only 


45 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

adds to the cruelty. Show some little regret — you might 
affect some little sorrow, even though you do not feel 
it.^^ 

Heaven knows that I am not quite so heartless as 
not to feel sorrow for what has occurred. Still, affairs 
like this are better to be adjusted before than after 
riage.^^ 

The boat touched the shore. He helped her out si- 
lently, and silently enough they wended their way to- 
gether up the daisy-studded path that led to the house. 
Never did a man feel himself to be more miserable, con- 
temptible — base. He despised himself for the part he 
had played, yet he was so completely under the spell of 
dark-eyed Aurelia that he could not resist the love that 
held him in thrall. 

Good-night, Margaret, he said, as they reached the 
door — ‘^good-night, and Heaven bless you. Tell me — 
that we are not to part in anger — could we not — be 
friends still 

I cannot promise that — I must take time to think it 
over,^’ she answered, turning quickly away. 

She did not go to her own room just then. She felt 
that it would be beyond the power of her endurance to 
look upon the dark, sparkling face of the girl who had 
won her lover from her, until the great battle with her- 
self was over and she felt calmer. 

“I do not seem to realize that Gerald and I have 
parted — forever,^^ she sobbed to herself, her tears fall- 
ing thick and fast. “ It seems like some horrible dream, 
from which I will awaken presently, and that I shall fly 
to Gerald^s arms and tell him of it, and he will sooth 
me, and kiss away my tears. How could Heaven take 
liirn from me, when I love him so well!^^ 

Suddenly the door just ahead of her was flung open, 
and Aurelia appeared. 

“Oh, here you are at last, MargaretT^ she exclaimed. 

“ I thought you would never come. Did Gerald tell you 
how it happened; that we untied the boat and drifted off?'’ 
And two white arms were flung tightly about her neck, 
and a soft, dimpled, flushed cheek was laid against hers. 
“Oh, my! but wasn’t I terrified when I discovered we 
had drifted so far, Margy, and had left you away back 
on the island. Oh, how awfully pale you are, Margy; 


46 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


but you haven^t answered me. Did not Gerald tell you 
all about it?’^ 

Yes/' said Margaret, very faintly, he told me." 

I sat up and waited for you. I couldn't go to sleep 
until you came," yawned Aurelia. I wanted to talk to 
you about something." 

think I know what it is — it is about Gerald," re- 
plied Margaret, more faintly still. 

Oh, bother Gerald!" cried the beauty, petulantly. 

I do wonder, now, if he has been telling you of all the 
nonsense he was talking to me to-night? Oh, Margy, 
you ought -to have been in the boat to have heard him 
—it was as good as a play in a theater; he was so aw- 
fully in earnest, poor fellow, that I had to keep my hand- 
kerchief stuffed ill my mouth to keep from laughing out- 
right." 

Aurelia!" cried Margaret, in a voice Tinging with 
bitter pain, ''tell me, do you love Gerald Komaine or 
not?" 


Aurelia threw back her dark, curly head with a gay 
laugh. 

"Gracious! how much in earnest you and Gerald are 
in everything you say and do. Do I love him? Why, 
Margy, anybody would think you were born yesterday to 
hear you talk like that. He's awfully nice to flirt with, 
you know, but goodness! he's not the style of a man for 
a girl like me to fall in love with by any means. If I 
ever do love a man he must be brilliant, polished, highly 
cultured — a man I could be proud of — a man whom all 
the world looked up to and the world of women wanted, 
and envied me for winning." 

Margaret dropped on her knees beside Aurelia, and 
clasped her white hands. 

]f you don't love Gerald, be kind to him in not lead- 
ing him on, dear," she entreated, eagerly; " the bitterest 
pain that a human heart can know, is the pain of loving 
one whose love you can never, never win in return. Oh, 
Aurelia, spare him from that death in life. If he asks 
you for your love, tell him the truth." 

'' I shall do nothing of the kind," declared Aurelia, 
puckering her brows into the prettiest of frowns. "If 
I did, he would go away at once; then I would have no 
one to flirt with, no one to pick' up my handkerchief, 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


47 


follow me about and adore me, and life should be simply 
unendurable to me in this dull old farmhouse/^ 

‘^Oh, Aurelia, do not lead him on to believe you love 
him if you do not,^’ persisted Margaret. It is a sin to 
win the heart of a good and noble man just to throw it 
away. It is awful to think that a dainty, delicate girl 
who would faint at the sight of a wound — who would not 
injure one hair on a man^s head, would deliberately 
break his heart and blight his life to feed her own van- 
ity. Do you think man can never feel nor suffer?^^ 

Aurelia laifghed, and the laughter that came from 
those crimson lips, though taunting, was as sweet as sil- 
ver chiming bells. 

^^Your goody-goody notions quite overwhelm me, 
Margy,^^ she cried; ^^any one to hear you talk would 
imagine that men were angels. Pretty angels they ^vould 
make; they would break the heart of every girl they 
came across if they could. You must have noticed that 
for every heart-broken man, there are at least twenty 
heart-broken women. Now doiPt preach to me, Margy, 
thaPs a dear.'’^ 

And the beauty buried her laughing face in the pil- 
low, pressed her pink palms tightly over her ears, and 
was blissfully unconscious of all Margaret was saying; 
and in this way she dropped off to sleep, leaving Mar- 
garet still talking. 

In another part of the house Gerald Eomaine was 
tossing restlessly on his pillow trying to sleep, but sleep 
would not come to him; one thought seemed to haunt 
his brain and hold him from it. He was free now — free 
to win Aurelia if he could. He could hardly wait for 
to-morrow to come to see Aurelia and speak with her. 

The hours rolled steadily on, and at last the pink flush 
in the eastern sky heralded the birth of a new day. 

Gerald was up with the dawn, but it was late as usual 
when Aurelia made her appearance. He did not have 
an opportunity to exchange a word alone with her all 
the morning, and this fact nearly drove him distracted. 
The dark, laughing eyes that met him, invited him to 
linger near her, but at his approach, Aurelia invariably 
flitted away. 

At length he found her alone in the garden, and in 


48 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

nil instant, like all impetuous lovers, he was at her 
side. 

Oh, Aurelia, have you purposely avoided me?’^ he 
cried. You must have known that I Avas counting the 
hours until I could talk to you. Don^b try to break 
away from me, Aurelia, and do listen to me. You shaU 
listen — you mtcst/’ 

Now, Gerald, she cried, gayly, ^Mvhat could be 
important enough for you to Avear a sober face about — 
like that?^^ 

He looked at her reproachfully. Surely, you have 
not forgotten— have you, darling?^^ he whispered, ten- 
derly. You remember, dear, you promised to give me 
my answer to-day, whether you love me or not, and 
Avhether you AVill be my Avife. You knoAv hoAv I adore 
you, precious. I love you so Avell that I cannot live 
Avithout you.^^ 

He Avas certainly blind that he could not see that it 
Avas not love Avhich shone out of the laughing eyes into 
which he gazed so eagerly. 

To Aurelia it Avas the Avine of life, listening to the tale 
of love that e\"ery man who had ever knoAvn her had 
whispered in her ear. He put his arm about her gently 
and dreAv her toAvard him. 

Answer me, precious, he whispered — donT you 
see hoAV eagerly I am waiting for it?’^ 

Can’t I Avait a Aveek or a month more to think it 
over?” she pouted, giving him a SAvift, shy glance from 
those Avondrous dark eyes. 

No — a thousand times, no! Suspense Avould kill 
me,” he declared. My darling, tell me, Avill you bo 
my wife?” 

Doavu deep in her heart Aurelia was thinking that this 
playing at love would give a uoav zest to her life. Why 
not give him the promise he pleaded for so earnestly? — 
words Avere easily spoken. 

suppose I must, if you want me so very much, Ger- 
ald,” she ansAvered, coyly. 

When, my darling!” he cried, straining her rapt- 
urously to his heart. 

‘^Oh, we Avon’t trouble our heads about that just yet,” 
she said, demurely. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


49 


CHAPTER X. 

LIFE WOULD NOT BE WORTH LIVING — WITHOUT YOUR 

love/’ 

Gerald looked down into the lovely, dimpled face 
with a fond smile. 

We must settle the all-important question here and 
now, Aurelia,/^ he declared, with all a young lover's 
impatience; ^^you have promised to be my wife; now 
you must tell me how long I will have to wait ere I 
can claim the treasure that I have won— will it be days 
or weeks?" 

^‘It will be neither days nor weeks — it will be 
months, Gerald," she declared, shaking her curly head 
decisively. 

He caught her in his arms. 

Cruel Aurelia," he cried, ^^you surely cannot mean 
that; why, one month will seem a year — how could I live 
through two or three of them, and be near you ? I would 
get along best away from you until the time of probation 
was over." 

He would go away — that did not please Aurelia at all; 
a lover who is away from one is as good as no lover at 
all. True, there may be letters, but affection trans- 
mitted by pen and paper soon cools, unless the love- 
letters are of at least ten closely-written pages, and every 
line teems with ardent adoration. 

The desire to be loved is strong enough in all of us — 
in Aurelia Lancaster it amounted to a mania; it is the 
key to all the foolish, wicked, senseless things you will 
find her doing through this history's short course. If 
she could have had her will, every man, woman, and 
child would have bowed down in adoration before her — 
and in the summer time most girls like to have a lover. 
In the winter the fire is lover enough for any one. The 
frosty splendor of the stars provokes no yearning in any 
human soul toward any other; we peep at them through 
icy casements, then drop the curtain, shivering, and 
leave them alone to their high, cold play in the sky. 
But who can look at a July moon — alone? . 

No; the summer days at the old farmhouse would be 


50 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

iniendiirable without some one to help her pass tlie time 
away. 

Aurelia/^ he pleaded, could you — would you marry 
me in three weeks’ time?” 

If you had said three months’ time I would have 
said ‘yes/” she murmured, “either three or six 
months.” 

“Then it shall be three months, my darling,” he 
cried, “three months from to-day. I shall live through 
that time somehow and then — oh, the joy, the delight 
of the anticipation of claiming you! You are my own 
now, Aurelia,” he cried rapturously. “Tell me that 
no one else shall ever make love to you, or kiss you; you 
will never be another’s^” 

“ Of course not,” replied Aurelia with delicious assur- 
ance. 

“You will be true to me forever, dear?” 

“ Yes, I will be true forever,” declared Aurelia. 

He caught her little hands in his, and covered them 
with burning kisses; his lieart was too full for utterance. 
Of his love — passionate, reckless, fervent — there was no 
doubt; with Aurelia it was simply the love of gratified 
vanity, the desire to keep him at her side; she liked to 
see his face flush and pale under her words; she liked to 
see his head bowed in such utter humility before her; 
she liked to watch the light in his eyes grow tender or 
hard, as she willed it; she liked to see that he trembled 
at her frown; she found it inexpressibly sweet, as most 
girls do, to hold this power over her lover. 

“Gerald,” she said, turning to him suddenly, “let no 
one know of our engagement, will you? Let us keep it 
a profound secret — even from Margaret — though she 
even guesses it.” 

lie was so much in love with Aurelia he was ready to 
promise anything. 

He took her m his arms and looked wistfully in her 
face. True love always carries with it a certain fear. 
“You will not change your mind when you go back to 
the house and think it all over, darling; you will not re- 
gret your promise?” he asked earnestly. 

She drew away from him, her lips pouting with 
pique. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 51 

‘^Have you no more faith in my promise than to ask 
that?’^ she said, reproachfully. 

Forgive me, dearest, he cried; believe me, I have 
a world of faith in you. I could sooner believe the an- 

f els up in heaven false and fickle than you, Aurelia, 
'orget that I asked the question.’^ 

When they reached the house, Margaret was standing 
in the doorway. One look at Gerald’s happy face told 
her the truth, and her heart grew chill as death within 
her. She looked earnestly at Aurelia. Her sister’s 
laughing, dimpled face puzzled her; she saw triumph, 
not love, in the dark, saucy eyes that met and held her 
own. 

Aurelia did not invite her confidence on the subject, 
as Margaret had believed she would do, and she forbore 
to ask her a single question concerning it. 

To Margaret Lancaster the summer days that came 
and went after that were slow, torturing agony. Her 
strength deserted her; the color faded from her cheeks, 
the light from her eyes; but she kept up so bravely that 
no one noticed. 

It was impossible for her not to watch Gerald and 
Aurelia as they sauntered amid the trees and flowers, 
her bright, lovely face and dark curls contrasting with 
his fair, proud, manly beauty. 

Never was lover more devoted than Gerald to his 
fiancee. Margaret wondered vaguely that people who 
saw them together did not notice it. Even John Eo- 
maine and his wife did not dream of the existing state 
of affairs until the tragedy came and took them all un- 
awares. 

In the long summer evenings Margaret would wander 
through the rose gardens alone, where once Gerald had 
been her companion — her lover. Often Gerald and Au- 
relia would pass so near the spot where she sat, shielded 
from view by the tall rose-bushes, that she could have 
put out her hand and touched them as they passed. 

She was thankful that she was not seen by them, for 
as they neared her she could see that Gerald was worship- 
ing the great beauty of the fair face so near his own. 
His arm would be encircling her waist, and often she saw 
him stooi) down and kiss Aurelia’s lovely rose-bud lips. 


52 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


and she so near them, crouching back amid the shadow of 
the bushes, lonely, desolate, and broken-hearted. 

Was it just? she would cry out to the shining, silent 
heavens after they had passed. Was it right, because 
Aurelia had the brightness of the stars in her eyes, that 
she should take Gerald Komaine^s love from her? Was 
it fair tiiat Aurelia should stand within the circle of his 
arms, and she kneeling there forsaken? 

Was it fair that Aurelia should receive his caresses and 
kisses while she stretched out her hands to empty air? 

Aurelia had commenced this betrothal in jest — but 
Gerald was such an ardent, earnest wooer, she often 
found herself wavering as to whether she should really 
marry him — or not — when the three months were up. 

It was Gerald^s delight to wander through the grounds 
with Aurelia, and unfold to her his hopes and plans — 
how rich he would be if his patents only turned out 
well. 

, ^MVould you be veryilohy Gerald?’^ she asked thought- 
fully, one day. 

Beyond your greatest dreams,’^ he declared enthus- 
iastically. 

^^Then would you agree to anything that would make 
me happy ?^^ she inquired, her lover taking new value in 
her eyes. 

Yes, my darling — anything — with all my heart and 
soul,^^ he declared. 

Then you must get rich very quick and take me to 
Europe — to live in a castle, she said, ‘‘ for I do not love 
this country life — I hate it. I should like grandeur, I 
have always longed for it.^^ 

'^Do you crave grandeur very much, Aurelia?’^ he 
asked wistfully. How strange it is, dear, that you have 
promised to marry a man who can give you none.^^ 

^^But a man who can get it for me,^^ she declared. 

^^If my patents amount to anything — yes — but sup- 
pose they should not?'^ he added thoughtfully. 

She looked at him in alarm. 

Suppose they do not,’^ she repeated with wide-open 
eyes. ‘^They mitst, Gerald, for I would rather die than 
live a poor life like this.^’ 

Are you not happy here?^^ he asked, surrounded by 
the kindest of friends, the sweetest of sisters, and the 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


53 


most devoted of lovers? It seems to me, Aurelia, that 
you have all the elements of happiness/^ 

1 would sooner die,^^ she declared again, than spend 
all my life here; I could not endure the dreariness/^ 

I should be here — it would be spent with me, 
Aurelia — with me as your husband, dear/^ 

His face glowed; the rapture of content came over it, 
but there was no response in hers. 

I should very much like to know,"^ continued Aurelia, 

if it would be fair to place me, who have such a keen, 
passionate longing for life, gayety, pleasure, here where 
I have none of the three. 

^^None of the three?” he repeated sadly, and the pain 
in his voice touched her; she looked at him; his face had 
grown very pale, and there was a cloud in his clear, lov- 
ing eyes. 

He knelt down in front of her where he could see her 
face, and he drew it gently down to his own. 

^^Not happy here, Aurelia?” he murmured; why, my 
darling, I find heaven wherever you are; I will not believe 
you meant to w^ound me so. You ought to reign in a 
castle because you are so beautiful, so brilliant, and you 
shall, for I will have one for you.” 

When?” she asked, bringing his castle in the air 
suddenly to the ground. 

Soon, my darling. You do not know how hard 
I am working — as soon as I can possibly accomplish it.” 

‘MVork!” replied the red lips, scornfully — "^a man 
may work for a lifetime and die poor. Look at your 
father, how hard he works, and he has only made enough 
' all his life long to buy a miserable farm.” 

Gerald^s face flushed and paled. 

But my work is very different from his, Aurelia,” 
he said, gravely. Brains win gold. There have been 
men who have gotten up simple patents who have real- 
ized millions of money from them.” 

And there have been men working at patents who 
have wasted their lives on them, and starved in a 
garret, I once heard Madame H.ulburton say at school,” 
she declared. 

^^But I have not that intention,” cried Gerald, with 
sudden power. will win wealth for you, since you 

crave it so much, my darling. The thought of you will 


54 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

give me skill, nerve and courage. Have patience with 
me a little while, precious. 

After a moment^s pause, he said: I should like to 
take you in my arms and run away with you to some 
lonely island or solitary desert, where you would have no 
one but me to look to for happiness — a foolish thought 
to express — but even the gravest men will have foolish, 
boyish fancies sometimes. Oh, Aurelia, if I could but 
tell you how I love you, he murmured — if but for once 
I could measure the height and depth of my own wild 
worship, you would be compelled in sheerest pity to 
love me more in return than you do."^^ 

You seem to think that I do not love you very much 
noiVy Gerald she said. 

There are times when I almost doubt it,’Mie replied, 
sadly, and the bare idea of such a possibility drives 
me mad. Your love is more to me than my life, 
Aurelia.^^ 


CHAPTER XL 

WHATEVER IS TO BE, WILL BE. 

It seemed strange to Margaret that John Romaine and 
his wife did not notice Gerald’s great, absorbing ^ove for 
Aurelia. How blind they were not to see it in Gerald’s 
every action, in the light that shone in his eyes as they 
rested on Aurelia, in the very tone of his voice, which 
changed to such tenderness whenever he spoke to her. 

There was one thing that almost drove Margaret dis- 
tracted, and that was Mrs. Romaine’s constant recurrence 
to her approaching marriage with her son. These re- 
marks were dagger thrusts in the girl’s heart. How was 
she to endure them, and live through it? 

^^It is strange that you don’t commence to make your 
preparations for the wedding, my dear,” declared Mrs. 
Romaine one day to her; other girls busy themselves 
with their wedding finery months and months before the 
great event. You and Gerald must have a send-off that 
the people around here won’t soon forget. Have you 
settled on the day yet?” 

Margaret went up to Mrs. Romaine and knelt down 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 55 

beside her chair, lifting her fair, pale face pathetically 
to the kindly one beside her. 

You have never questioned my judgment when I 
decided upon any course I wished to pursue, Aunt 
Eachel,^^ she said huskily, ^^and I am sure you will not 
when I tell you that which I have come to say to you 
now. It is simply this: Gerald and I are not to be — 
married, our — our engagement is — broken off 

^MVhat!’^ cried Mrs. Romaine shrilly, staring at her 
in open-eyed amazement through her spectacles, quite 
believing she had not heard aright; what was it you 
said, Margaret 

The girl repeated her Avords huskily, but firmly. 

Why, I can scarcely believe what I hear you say, my 
dear, she declared ; asking, anxiously: Have you and 
Gerald had any little lovers’ quarrel, child? — tell me if 
you have. The best of us get cross with those we love 
most sometimes; but there is such a thing as making it 
up, and setting matters all straight again,” and she took 
Margaret’s fair face between her hands, and looked down 
into the clear, sweet, blue eyes searchingly, intently. 

Gerald and I have not quarreled, Aunt Rachel; we 
had a quiet talk one day, and we both came to the con- 
clusion that we were better apart — Ave both agreed to 
break our engagement.” 

Mrs. Romaine Avas bitterly disappointed. 

^^It Avas the hope of my old age, Margaret,” she said; 
adding, thoughtfully, as she wiped her glasses Avich the 
corner of her apron: Then vou did not love each other, 
after all?” 

The girl kept doAvn Avith an iron will all emotion. 

Yes,” she replied, Avith a quiet smile, but it was • 
not in the right kind of Avay. We are the best of 
friends. I — I am like a sister to Gerald, but of lovers’ 
love there is none.” 

It seems strange that you neA^er found it out before,” 
said Mrs. Romaine, musingly; why, I felt so sure that 
you loA^ed my Gerald — and that he loved you.” 

She loved the girl kneeling doAvn by her side so Avell 
that she could detect the suppressed pain in her voice, 
and she did not feel satisfied with the explanation Mar- 
garet had given her. Why could they not have loved 
each other and been happily married? Still she did not 


56 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

like to siiy any more, and Margaret was thankful for her 
silence. 

She made up her mind to talk to Gerald about it that 
very night; and if it was as she suspected — that some 
foolish loveiV quarrel was drifting them apart — she 
would take it upon herself to bring affairs to a happy re- 
conciliation, and that speedily. 

Mrs. Eomaine looked very keenly at her tall, hand- 
some son when he entered the house that night — she 
could not see that he looked cast down in the least — his 
eyes were brighter than she had ever noticed them to be 
before — there was a smile of perfect contentment on his 
lips, and his laugh rang out hearty and clear. 

Mrs, Romaine was certainly puzzled. 

She followed him to ht3 usual retreat — the orchard 
— whither he had gone to smoke his cigar that night. 

Gerald, she said breaking into the subject upper- 
most in lier mind at once; want to know what the 
difficulty is between Margaret and you?'^ 

There is ^ no difficulty between us,^ as you phrase 
it, mother, he declared, with a merry laugh that grated 
harshly upon her. 

'This is sad news she has given me, my son,^^ she an- 
swered, gravely; she tells me her engagement with 
you is broken off; is it true, Gerald?'^ 

Did you ever know of Margaret lending herself to 
an untruth?^^ he inquired, quizzically, adding: Yes, it 
is quite true, mother; she has the good sense to see that 
our love for each other was not the kind of love that 
makes a happy marriage, and was brave enough to break 
the bonds which bound her to me.^^ 

^^And you, Gerald, what did you think?^^ she in- 
quired anxiously. 

He flushed to the roots of his brown, curling hair, 
lie could not throw the blame upon Margaret. 

It is a mutual agreement, mother, he said; that 
knowledge must content you.^’ 

Mrs. Romaine did not feel satisfied with her interview 
with Gerald. She felt a vague, shadowy doubt that 
there was something about this affair which she had not 
yet discovered — there was something wrong somewhere, 
and she determined to set her woman^s wits to work to 
find out just where the blame lay. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


57 


Then she discovered whac she should have noticed 
long ago, and that was Gerald^s apparent infatuation for 
Aurelia, and tlie discoveiy brought with it the keenest 
alarm, not only on account of the jealousy which must 
lie deep in Margaret^s heart — if she had felt so deeply 
wounded by it as to break the engagement that bound her 
to Gerald — but her thoughts went back to a time and 
scene which, with the years that had come and gone, she 
had almost forgotten. 

Like a flash Mrs. Romaine^s mind reverted to that 
beautiful stranger who had come to the inn on that 
memorable night of the terrible storm, nearly seventeen 
years ago, and who had died in her arms, leaving to her 
care the two little orphan children — Aurelia and Mar- 
garet; and with that thought came the remembrance of 
the startling words the dying young mother had uttered 
as she clasped the infant Aurelia to her breast in a mad 
frenzy, crying out: 

‘^Hark you, listen well to what I have to say, and 
those on the confines of the tomb speak but the truth. 
This lale must never love, nor must she marry ! The 
bitter fate of the daughters of the house of Lancaster 
hangs over her — the curse will follow her down to her 
grave. 

What that curse was, it will be remembered, had not 
been unfolded to Mrs. Eomaine. The secret which had 
trembled on the lips of the hapless young mother had 
died with her. Through all these years the memory of 
that scene rushed back to her mind with a terrible 
shock. 

What if Gerald had transferred is love from Margaret 
to Aurelia, and had intentions of marrying the latter, 
over whose head some horrible, bitter, unknown curse 
hung? Mrs. Romaine trembled and grew pale at the 
bare thought. 

How could she dare warn Gerald by telling him all, 
when she had taken such a solemn oath at that dying 
bedside, before God and the recording angels, to never 
breathe one word that fell from those death-cold lips? 

She had kept her oath well; not even to John, her 
faithful husband, had she ever revealed theslightest hint 
of what happened on that awful, never-to-be-forgoiten 
night. 


58 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


Now she was face to face with the consequences of 
binding herself by that solemn, fatal vow to eternal si- 
lence. 

Mrs. Eomaine wrung her hands together in an agony 
of grief at the thought of Gerald^s heart going out to 
Aurelia. Surely, God must prevent such a catastrophe, 
she cried out to herself. 

Suddenly, like an inspiration, a thought occurred to 
her. A wealthy lady, whose life John Eomaine had 
saved while driving in that vicinity, the previous sum- 
mer, had been very solicitous that Margaret, who had at- 
tended her during the fortnight she had been laid up at 
the farmhouse with a sprained ankle, should visit her at 
her country home the following summer. 

Only that day they had received a letter reminding 
Margaret of that promise, but the timid girl shrunk 
from going among strangers. Why not send Aurelia 
there? 

The idea seemed a sort of inspiration to Mrs. Eo- 
maine. That plan would take the fascinating little 
beauty out of her son^s way. The cause of Margaret^s 
jealousy would be removed — he would, man-like, soon 
forget his infatuation for a pretty face, and in due 
course of time return to his allegiance to Margaret; and 
when they had made up their differences, she would see 
to it that their marriage took place as speedily as pos- 
sible — yes, Margaret should be Gerald^s wife ere Aurelia 
returned. 

It was a very ingenious plan, and Mrs. Eomaine flat- 
tered herself upon her clever diplomacy in arranging 
such a scheme. It was well for the poor lady that she 
did not foresee the result — no warning came to her that 
it would end in the darkest tragedy that was ever in- 
scribed in the country's dark history of crime. But — 

Whatever is to be, will be, 

Fate leads us with a single thread.” 

That Aurelia would be delighted at the prospect of 
visiting the wealthy Mrs. Clavering at her magnificent 
country seat at Deephurst, she knew the giiTs nature 
well enough to readily believe. 

Mrs. Eomaine meant to broach the subject in a round- 
about way to Aurelia that very night; she felt pretty cer- 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 59 

tain that the girl would clasp her little hands together 
excitedly, and cry out, Oh, Aunt Eachel! if Margaret 
is so foolish as to persist in refusing to visit tliis wealthy 
lady, who is anxious to have lier come, why not let me 
go in her place She meant to demur at first, to make 
Aurelia the more anxious, but end by sending her off 
with all possible haste. 

How little Mrs. Eomaine dreamed that this decision 
changed tlie current of three lives, and that it would 
have been better for her son Gerald if Aurelia had died 
ere she went to her strange fate at Deephurst. 


CHAPTEE XIL 

WISH YOU LOYED ME LESS."’ 

Mrs. Eomaihe was glad that Gerald was not at the 
tea-table that night, for it gave her a better opportunity 
for broaching the subject uppermost in her mind to the 
two girls who sat opposite her. She had looked at them 
keenly as they took their places, and never until now 
did the great contrast in these two sisters strike her so 
forcibly. 

How plain Margaret looked, in her brown stuff gown, 
simply made, with the bit of niching at her neck and 
wrists, and her fair, curling hair brushed simply back 
and twisted in a loose coil at the back of her shapely 
head! Somehow, in comparing the two, one uncon- 
sciously likened Margaret to a little brown linnet; and 
her sister, Aurelia — with her dark, glorious, dimpled 
face and wine-dark eyes, with the embellishments of the 
soft white mull dress, with its crimson, fluttering rib- 
bons — to a gloriously beautiful bird of paj'adise. 

Very cautiously Mrs. Eomaine began the topic, with 
Margaret’s invitation to visit the Claverings, and she 
reddened all over her honest face when she thought of 
how much depended on the result of this conversation. 
She started cautiously to feel her way; she must not 
show her intentions too soon. She always thought af- 
terward that her method had been a masterpiece of 
diplomacy. 

She described the beautiful Clavering estate at Deep- 


60 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

hnrsfc, and how lonely it was for the lady living there, 
with only her ward, her servants, and her handsome 
young son — and how much there would be to enjoy, if 
Margaret would only accept Mrs. Clavering’s invitation 
to spend the summer there. 

Aurelia listened, with wide-open eyes — every moment 
they grew larger and rounder with interest. 

Aunt Eomaine!’^ she cried, at length, if Margaret 
doesn’t wish to go, why couldn’t I go in her place? 
Surely it might be arranged in that way, I should 
think!” 

At first Mrs. Eomaine demurred loudly, and protested 
that such an arrangement was not to be thought of. 
Margaret was the one togo and enjoy herself, if anybody 
went. But, in the end, Aurelia was allowed to have her 
own way, and it was settled that a telegram should be 
sent to Deephurst that very night, acquainting Mrs. 
Clavering of her expected arrival, and that Aurelia 
should follow the telegram on the morrow. 

While they were busy packing her trunks, Aurelia 
strayed out into the orchard; she knew Gerald would 
pass that way on his return from the village; she meant 
to intercept him there, and tell him she was going to 
leave the farm for a few weeks’ visit at Deephurst. She 
expected there would be quite a scene. Gerald would 
beg her, with tears in his eyes, to forego her intention; 
but no matter what he said or did, she intended to go—' 
nothing should change that. 

Aurelia wandered up and down the I'ose-bordered path, 
in the moonlight, with her thoughts all in a maze, lier 
head whirling with the anticipation of the grand life in 
store for her. How she would hate to come back to the 
plain old farm after seeing all that grandeur! she could 
not bear to even contemplate it. So, a little later, when 
Gerald came — hurrying more quickly than was his wont 
over the fields, longing to see Aurelia, after a separation 
of a whole day that seemed to him the length of a year 
— she met him with great coldness. 

How pitiful it was to see his face droop and sadden, 
his lips tremble, and his eyes grow dim with suppressed 
tears! It was the first time she had ever been cold to 
him — the first time her face had not brightened forhim^ 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

She did not even smile when he hastened np to her, and 
bending down, kissed her beautiful face. 

My darling, he cried, I thought the day would 
never come to an end. I have been longing to see you. 
Do you know, Aurelia,^Mie went on eagerly, have 
never once left you without a deadly sense of fear com- 
ing over me that something might happen to take you 
from me while I was gone. If you knew all my tortures 
when I am away from you, you would pity me.^’ 

^MYhat nonsensical fancies you have, Gerald!’’ she 
said, impatiently. 

^^It is because I love you so much,’’ he replied, sadly. 

I love you too much, my darling. Do you know what 
would happen to me if you ever threw me over?” 

^^No,” she replied, looking carelessly into the earnest 
face before her, not relishing the turn the conversation 
was taking. 

I should die — or go mad!” he declared, bending over 
her and kissing her again, with the passion of his great, 
wistful, earnest love in his blue eyes. 

She drew back with a frown. 

I never said you might kiss me every day, Gerald,” 
she said. 

^‘1 know, my darling,” he said, humbly; but I can- 
not help it. It has grown into a custom now.” 

^^When anything has become a custom, it ceases to be 
a charm,” she replied, adding, tartly: wish 3^011 

wouldn’t tease me with your kisses — I do, indeed.” 

lie looked into her face with wondering eyes, and so 
wistfully that if slie had had any heart it must have 
been touched. 

Aurelia,” he said, slowl}", drawing nearer to her, and 
putting back the pale, white roses that nodded to and 
fro in the night wind, tossing their white, loosened 
petals over her dark, curly head, Aurelia, have I been 
so unfortunate as to displease you in any way?” 

^^No,” she replied, drawing back from the strong arm 
that stole about her slender waist; I do not remember 
that 3"ou have.” 

You are so changed, dearest,” he said huskily, 
^Hhat lean hardly imagine that this is you! I can 
hardly tell — I dare not say even to myself — what your 
manner seems to me, Aurelia!” he cried, with a sudden 


62 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

catching of the breath. You cannot surely repent 
having promised to marry me — it cannot be that.^’ 

She laughed a low, impatient laugh; though heartless 
as she was, the pain in his deep voice touched her. She 
looked at him; his face had grown very white, and there 
was a cloud in his clear, blue eyes. 

wish you would n^t take it to heart so much, if I 
am a little cross once in awhile,’^ she said poutingly, toy- 
ing uneasily with the crimson, fluttering ribbons of her 
dress, and keeping him off at armVlength from her. 

^^Why be cross wdth me, dearest?^^ he asked sadly. 

You know that your smile makes heaven to me — 
your frown despair. I would give all I have on earth to 
save you from one cross, unhappy moment.^^ 

She did not even hear him; she was thinking of other 
things. 

^^Will it surprise you to know that I came down to 
the orchard on purpose to meet you, Gerald?’^ slie said, 
suddenly, looking up at him sweetly. 

The poor fellow looked delighted; the shadows left his 
eyes at once. 

^^Did you, darling?^^ he cried. ^^Then you did long 
for my coming after all?’^ 

And his fair, handsome face was all sunshine again. 

I wanted to see you, because I have something very 
important to tell you, Gerald/^ she said, sweetly. You 
may sit down beside me, if you promise to listen and 
not interrupt me.'^^ 

He would have promised her anything for the sake of 
sitting down beside her and having her all to himself 
out there in the sweet, white moonlight. 

But Gerald^s dismay, when he heard that she was go- 
ing to leave the farm and visit two months atDeephurst, 
could never be described. 

In vain he attempted to dissuade her; the more he 
said about it the more determined the perverse little 
beauty was to go. 

They fell out over it, but Aurelia did not care in the 
least. 

You do not love me,’^ Gerald cried, or you could 
not leave me.’^ 

And she replied that he might think whatever he 


COQUETTE. 


63 


THE l<E..Cr: 


liked; but this way of thinking made her lover miser- 
able, she well knew. 

For quite half an hour they sat there side by side, 
she studying the moon — but taking sidelong glances at 
Gerald^s face — he intently scanning the long, green 
grasses at his feet, yet seeing nothing. 

I shall count the days until you return, Aurelia,” he 
said huskily, at length breaking the irksome silence. 

Perhaps I shall see some one I like better than you,** 
and never come back at all,” she retorted maliciously, 
to pay him back for that fit of sulks. 

‘^Hush!” he cried, with a shudder, putting up his 
hand before her mouth. ^^Don^t say that, darling. It 
strikes terror to my heart, it is so horribly probable. I 
cannot bear it.” 

I wish you were not so fond of me,” she said, in a 
low voice. 


I could have given you up at first if you had told 
me it must be so positively; but not now, my darling, 
not now.” 

He had seized her hands and held them in so firm a 
grasp that the rings she wore hurt her slim, white 
fingers. 

Tell me about these Claverings, Aurelia,” he said. 

You know I have never met them; I was away when 
Mrs. Olavering was at the farm. Tell me all about these 
people, my darling.” 

They are very wealthy, and have a grand old place, 
your mother says. There is a young girl there of about 
my age — a ward of Mr. Clavering — and also a son.” 

^^A son!” repeated Gerald, with a start, his voice 
sounding husky. 

Well, why should there not be a son? What harm is 
there in that?^ asked Aurelia, irritably. 

I wish these people had not a son.” 

Do you imagine, by some revolution in the wheel of 
fate, that they might have been induced to leave you 
their money if they had not?” she said laughing. 

No, not that,” he replied, with a faint attempt at an 
answering smile, against his will; ^^but, darling, youfil 
promise to write to me and tell me what he is like?” 

Yes,” she agreed. 


(54 


THE BE A UTTFUL COQ UETTE. 

“ And about how old lie is, and if he is — ])lain — or — 
or good-look in 2:?’^ 

“Yes/^ 

Whether you see much of him, precious?’’ 

Yes/^ 

What he says to you, and if you find him an agree- 
able companion; and, oh, darling, always remember, 
while you are talking to him, that you are my wife that 
is to be ” 

Gerald,’^ she cried angrily, I believe you are jeal- 
ous, and of a person I have never seen. Can it be pos- 
sible you are so supremely ridiculous?” 

am jealous, I admit it frankly,” he answered, red- 
dening. cannot help it. I shall always be jealous 

until you are really mine, past stealing or taking back 
again; after that I never shall. Will you write to me 
every day, precious?” he added eagerly. You cannot 
think how much pleasure your letters will be to me. I 
will live upon them.” 

I couldn’t promise to write every day,” declared 
Aurelia; if there’s one thing in this world that I do de- 
test above all others, it’s writing letters.” 

Then promise nie that you will write every other day, 
dear,” he urged. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

COULD NOT SAY GOOD-BYE TO YOU BEFORE 

strangers!” 

^^Ho you want me to give you a promise just for the 
sake of giving it, and knowing well enough at the time 
that I never — never could keep such an agreement?” 
Aurelia asked laughingly. 

Heaven forbid!” answered Gerald; but it seems to 
rue it would not be so very much of a task to write a 
very few words to me at least every other day, dear. 
Then I would feel sure your heart was still warm toward 
me. You would be thinking of me while you wrote the 
letters, at least.” 

One gets tired of the same subject — it grows monot- 
onous. I couldn’t find anything to say to you, I feel 
sure, after the first letter. I shall have said it all in 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 65 

that!'^ she declared, with a peal of laughter that startled 
the birds from their nests in the old apple-tree over their 
heads. ^"No doubt you would like me to tell you in 
every letter — and till up all the four pages — with state- 
ments that I still love you, and am so wholly your own 
that I do not so much as look at any one else; and if a 
young man comes my way, I shut my eyes, that I won^t 
see him, and shut my ears, that I won^t heart the sound 
of his voice! Would that please you, Gerald Eomaine?^^ 

Her levity grieved him inexpressibly. 

I suppose you cannot help talking nonsense, Ger- 
ald, she went on. am not sentimental myself, and 
so much of it wearies me. When you talk about any- 
thing else I shall be glad.^^ 

When do you go, dearest?” he asked presently. 

To-morrow morning at eight,” she answered. 

Will you let me drive over to the station with you 
alone?” he asked, wistfully. 

Your father and Margaret are going with me,” she 
replied. You came come, too, if you like.” 

He drew back. 

I could not say good-bye to you before strangers, 
dear,” he said, huskily. I would prefer saying good- 
bye to you to-night, here and now, with only the sleep- 
ing flowers and trees to witness the pain of our part- 
ing.” 

He did not know that she was wishing from the very 
depths of her heart that it was well over with. 

Aurelia, say that you will miss me, and will long for 
my presence sometimes when you are away!” he cried, 
covering her hands with hot, burning kisses, 
am sure I shall,” she said. 

^^My darling, think ever and alwa3^s of me; be kind to 
me, love me; promise nie that you will be true to me al- 
ways while you live— true to me in thought, word, and 
deed. Kaise your beautiful face and promise me, Aure- 
lia.” 

I promise,” she repeated, ^^to be true to you, Ger- 
ald, while I live.” 

Then there was silence between them, deep silence, 
but for the wind sighing among the trees overhead. 

The words rose to the high heavens, and the listening 
angels heard and recorded them. 


66 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


Slowly, and with infinite tenderness, Gerald took her 
in his arms and kissed her, as though death itself should 
never take her from him. 

Say one word to me, Aurelia, he whispered, ^^one 
word, that I may think of you when you are gone, for 
my heart is broken. 

Dear Gerald she murmured, and she was nearer 
loving him at that moment than at any other time in her 
life. 

^^Oh! my darling, how can I let you leave me?^^ he 
cried; you love me now, but will you come back the 
same to me? It is like tearing my heart out of my bosom 
letting you go away.'’^ 

^^Two months will quickly pass, then I will be back,^^ 
she said. 

He seemed to leave his very heart and soul in the kiss 
that he pressed on her lips. 

Then his arms fell from her, and with the whispered 
word — good-bye — he turned and walked hurriedly away 
while he had the strength to leave her, and Aurelia 
wended her way back to the farmhouse alone. 

Mrs. Eomaine and Margaret were still busy packing 
her trunk, and in the keen feminine deliglit of watch- 
ing the pretty furbelows — being folded and laid away — 
within twenty minutes Aurelia had quite forgotten the 
fair, handsome lover, pacing up and down under the 
apple-trees, and wearing his very heart out over the 
agony of this coming separation from her. 

How pretty I shall look in those lovely cream mulls, 
declared Aurelia, excitedly, as she bent her dimpled cliin 
on her pink palms, and watched the operation of their 
being carefully folded by Margaret’s deft fingers, and 
laid neatly in the trunk. ‘‘1 wonder if Mr. Clavering’s 
ward IS pretty and stylish.” 

Very probably,” returned Margaret. I heard 
Mrs. Olavering say she had spent most of her life at 
Vassar.” 

Did she tell you the girl’s name?” asked Aurelia cur- 
iously. 

Maud — Maud Erskine, I think,” returned Margaret. 

The name is pretty, at ail events,” declared Aurelia. 

And how about the son?” she asked, after a little 
pause. 


67 


THE BE A UTIFUL COQ UETTE, 

‘‘ Mrs. Clavering never spoke much about her son 
Eandolph/’ said Margaret. may be only my fancy, 

but she always seemed to avoid the subject, I thought; 
but by two or three remarks of Mrs. Olavering^s, I was 
under the impression that it was the dearest hope of the 
mother that her son should marry Miss Erskine — in fact, 
that this arrangement was made for him, when he was a 
child, by their respective parents.^^ 

And, of course, Mr. Eandolph Clavering certainly 
rebels, cried Aurelia, with flushed cheeks and sparkling 
eyes. Of course, no man likes being badgered about a 
girl, from the time he was in knee-breeches and pina- 
fores. They always hate girls most cordially who are 
picked out for them in that way, Margy, depend upon 
it.^" 

I do not think so— at least I understand Mr. Claver- 
ing, junior, thinks the match a suitable one. Why should 
he not like her? She has youth and — and — beauty, 
sighed Margaret. 

She quite believed a beautiful face must carry the 
hearts of men by storm, as Aurelia^s had carried Ger- 
akrs. 

And no doubt, she has wealth,’^ returned Aurelia, 
frowning. That is the last attribute you ever think 
of, Margaret, and it should 

‘^Yes, she has money. I remember Mrs. Clavering 
mentioning that,^^ said Margaret. 

But she added : 

Money would be of no consequence to the Cover- 
ings; they are so rich themselves. 

‘^DonT you wish you and I were rich, Margy said 
Aurelia, in a low voice. Do you never long for it?’’ 

No,” said Margaret, turning her honest blue eyes on 
her beautiful sister. I have never once thought of it. 
I — I should rather be — happy— than — rich.” 

Aurelia laughed aloud. 

The hidden secret in the girl’s heart, which those 
words betrayed, did not strike her. 

I would give the whole world to be rich, Margy,” 
she cried; to live in grandeur, to live in a fine house, 
and have magnificent equipages, with high-stepping 
horses, in glittering harness and silver chains; to have 
women envy me as I passed by, and men admire me. 


68 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

That would be something worth living for. The rich 
quaff the wine of life; the poor do not even imagine, in 
their wildest dreams, what it is like.^^ 

Margaret looked at her sister in open-eyed wonder. 
No good ever comes from longing so ardently for 
that which we have not and never will have, Aurelia/^ 
said Margaret, gravely; ^^we are poor girls, and must be 
satisfied with our lot, believing that God knew best for 
us, and where to place us for our good.'’^ 

Speak for yourself P cried Aurelia, angrily. If you 
havenT a wish or a thought above your head, why, that’s 
no reason I shouldn’t have. You could be happy if you 
were as poor as a church-mouse, I suppose. 1 seem to 
have absorbed all the ambition of both of us when we 
were born. How strange it is that we are twin sisters, 
Margaret?” she said, after a moment’s pause. Twins 
usually resemble each other closely; while no two per- 
sons in the whole wide world are more unlike than you 
and I, in face, form, feature, disposition — everything.” 

Margaret came and knelt by Aurelia’s side. 

would give the whole wide world, dear, if God had 
given me a face like yours — just like yours, dear,” she 
sobbed; and in her voice there was bitter pain. 

Aurelia was vain enough to feel flattered. 

Oh, you look very well as you are, Margaret,” she 
declared. Of course everyone cannot expect to be 
beautiful; you are plain, but there have been times when 
your face lighted up and your cheeks flushed until you 
looked quite pretty — you did, indeed.” 

Margaret sighed and smiled sadly. 

There was much surprise at the farmhouse wlien Ger- 
ald did not come to the carriage to bid Aurelia fare- 
well. 

He was nowhere to be found; but Aurelia soon 
smoothed matters over by declaring she had bidden him 
good-bye only a short while before. 

Now, there’ll be a conveyance o’ some kind to meet 
you at Deephurst station, my lass,” said Farmer Ko- 
maine, putting down Aurelia’s innumerable boxes and 
packages on the car seat beside her. Now take care o’ 
yersel’, lass, about changin’ cars at Dover. I alius 
claimed that women couldn’t travel alone, an’ I shall be 
oneasy-like until we hear that you’ve got there all right. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 69 

safe and sound. Don^fc speak to nobody on the train on 
no account, lass. Keep yer veil down. I allow yen’ll 
not famish afore you get there, for in this bundle there^s 
a spring chicken, and some o’ Eachel’s fine bread, some 
ham, and Margy’s doughnuts — just the way ye ullus tease 
for to have ’em — nice and brown, two big apples, and a 
slice o’ citron cake, and no end o’ good things, besides 
the ” 

The rest of the sentence was lost amid the shrill 
screeching of the engine, much to Aurelia’s satisfaction. 

How little he dreams,” she thought, with a little, 
suppressed laugh, ^Hhat, as soon as the train leaves the 
curve, I shall pitch all these old doughnuts and apples 
and the rest out of the window with the greatest com- 
plaisance! Eat from a paper box — before all the people 
on the train, indeed!” 

The very thought made Aurelia^s proud, sensitive soul 
shiver. 

She had long since made up her mind that she should 
have a first-class dinner on the train, with a little table 
in front of her, silver service and colored waiters to wait 
on her for once, if it took every cent of the five-dollar 
bill Uncle John had stowed away in her purse — a 
guard against accidents.” 

Good-bye, lass,” cried Farmer Eomaine, giving her 
a hearty smack full on her rosebud lips. The train’s 
startin’. I’ll hev to leave ye, Aurelia,” and the next mo- 
ment, to her great relief, the wieldly, good-natured old 
farmer had, with much difficulty, made his way out of 
the car. 


CHAPTEE XIV. 

A CHANGE ACQUAINTANCE. 

Farmer Eomaine and Margaret, leaning eagerly out 
from the old carry- all, watched the lovely face at the 
car window until the train carried it out of their sight, 
and neither of them thought of the dark days that were 
to come ere they should behold the beautiful face of 
Aurelia Lancaster again. 

The sun climbed higher and higher in the blue 


70 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

heavens as the day wore on, and meanwhile onward 
rushed the train through the sunlit hills and dales. 

Aurelia grows heartily tired after awhile of staring 
out of the window through her veil, lifts it at length, 
despite admonitions, and stares around in unconscious 
school-girl fashion at her fellow-passengers, ruminating 
on how funny it was that so many people had some par- 
ticular place to go, and on that particular day too. 

She is tired of watching the woman with the blink- 
ing, fat baby, in the seat in front of her; the owl-like 
minister opposite her, who never takes his spectacled 
eyes off the tracts he is reading — she knows he is a min- 
ister from the cut of his coat — and the two young girls 
simpering and giggling to a very homely young man just 
ahead, and she falls to speculating which girl he is most 
interested in, as he never betrays himself into looking or 
speaking too much to the one or to the other. 

She turns her curly head, bird-like, to take a glance at 
the people sitting back of her. Ah, unlucky action! in 
that first sweeping glance, her eyes encounter the 
fixed, penetrating stare of a young man sitting on the 
opposite side of the aisle, a little way back, watching her 
intently. 

She blushed and turned quickly away, but not until 
she had taken mental note that he was an exceedingly 
handsome young man. 

How eagerly he looked at me, as though he quite 
admired me,^’ thought Aurelia, with a little thrill at her 
lieart. 

A few minutes later she saw him approach the door of 
the car, look out for a moment, then turn slowly and 
walk back, looking deliberately at her every step of the 
way, and there was no mistaking the bold, keen gaze of 
admiration he bent on her. 

Aurelia took another little shy glance at him, just after 
he had passed. 

In her opinion he was certainly handsome; his trousers, 
a broad plaid, were cut in the very latest style; so was 
the nobby cutaway coat; on his immaculate shirt 
front two immense diamond studs flashed, and these 
were surmounted by a tie of flaming crimson; an im- 
mense ring with a big white gleaming stone sparkled on 
his hand, and he took every precaution of displaying it 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 71 

as he passed Aurelia, by twirling the ends of his thick 
blonde mustache, or running his white fingers through 
light, bushy hair, and tilting backhishat. He drew out 
of his pocket an immense yellow watch too, attached to 
a thick fob chain, with no end of charms and seals that 
jingled not inharmoniously as he stopped, and consulted 
his watch, as he passed Aurelia. 

Even a most unsophisticated person must have ob- 
served that his dress was decidedly ^Houd,^^ but such an 
idea never once occurred to Aurelia; to her, the stranger 
appeared handsome and stylish. 

While she was pondering over, idly, who he was, the 
young man suddenly appeared before her again, this 
time stopping directly by her side. 

I am sorry to have been so unfortunate as to lose 
my seat,'^ he said; ladies came in and appropriated it 
without so much as saying by your leave, don’t you 
know. This half of your seat is the only one vacant on 
the car; may I take it beside you?” he murmured, rais- 
ing his hat, and bowing low with an irresistible smile, 
and a fervent look from his keen, blue, bold eyes. 

Aurelia assented with a bow, making room for him. 

He settled back in his seat, and the next moment had 
apparently forgotten all about her — which certainly 
piqued Aurelia. 

She did not know that he had said to himself he was 
too wary to commence conversation at once with her be- 
fore the other passengers'. 

Very diplomatically he brought about the opportunity 
of addressing her Should he lower the shade for her? 
The sun was verj warm; and a little later on: Could he 
bring her ice- water? — the car was actually suffocating 
that close, sultry afternoon. 

The handsome stranger made himself so agreeable that 
Aurelia’s vanity was fiattered. 

^MVhere was the harm,” she told herself, ^^of flirting 
with so pleasant a young man to beguile so long and 
tedious a journey? Of course Margaret and the people 
at the farm would be horror-stricken over it if they knew 
— but how were they ever to know?” 

And she crushed back a gay little laugh from her saucy 
cherry-ripe lips. 

She did not demur when he insisted upon supplying 


72 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

her with railway literature and the choicest of fruits; 
and when he chatted to her, gayly, in that fascinating 
low voice of his, Aurelia would look up at him coyly, 
without a rebuke in her splendid dark eyes, and blush 
and smile. 

Two gentlemen, seated a little way back, had been in- 
terested spectators of this little scene. 

One had watched with considerable amusement in his 
keen gray eyes — his friend looked on with deep disgust. 

I have always held,^^ said the latter, grimly turning 
to his merry friend, ^^that true modesty and decorum 
in American girls of the present age — when away from 
the leading-strings of duennas — is about as rare as 
pearls in oysters. There you have a fine illustration of 
it.^^ 

^^A sweeping declaration — and altogether wrong, re- 
plied his companion. You are too hard on the sex, 
my dear fellow. That pretty girl yonder, is very impru- 
dent, I admit, but she is very young — scarcely more than 
seventeen, I should imagine. She is up to the times, 
eniovs a harmless little flirtation, and that is all there is 
to it.-"^ 

Of course you know the character of that man,^^ re- 
turned the other; why, it^s enough to blast a woman^s 
reputation for life — exchanging a word with him; upon 
my word, I have half a mind to follow that girl to the 
end of her destination, to see that no harm befalls 
her.’^ 

At this his companion laughed long and loud. 

Great Heaven! you a confirmed woman-hater, 
smitten by a giiTs bright eyes, at first sight! — well, 
well! what will happen next in this world of wonders? 
I can hardly believe I have heard aright.’^ 

You are decidedly wrong in the conclusion that you 
have jumped at,^^ returned his friend, impatiently, the 
frown deepening on his fine dark face. ^^If I should 
ever fall in love with a woman, I should want to make 
her my wife — for a nature like mine never truly loves 
but once. And do you think I am a man to give my 
heart in the keeping of a flirt — a soulless coquette? The 
woman who flirts before marriage, will not be averse to 
a little of the same thing after marriage, I assure you — 
no such woman for me; I steer clear of all such reefs. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 73 

The thought of following her to the end of her destina- 
tion is purely, as I have stated, to save an innocent, fool- 
ish girl from the toils of the worst rascal that the slums 
of New York ever produced, and that ever cheated Sing 
Sing of an inmate.’^ 

You will have plenty of time to make up your mind 
as to this wild, chivalrous scheme before we get to 
Dover. I believe you were to change cars there 
‘^Yes,^^ replied his friend, shortly. 

Then for some distance they traveled on in silence. 
^^Look!^^ cried the gentleman with the good-humored 
face, in a low voice, as he touched his companion on the 
arm, here we are at Dover, and I see that the pair who 
have interested you so much are about to get off here.^’ 
As the two gentlemen passed Aurelia and her compan- 
ion, they could not help overhearing a fragment of their 
conversation. 

am delighted that I can be of service to you,’^ the 
bold stranger was saying to Aurelia, as he possessed 
himself of her hand-sachel and shawl. ^^It would have 
been very uncomfortable for a young lady to make this 
change of cars unassisted. You go to Deephurst, you 
say?"" 

The girl nodded, and he continued: 

That is on the other road. The depot is quite a 
mile from here; you will have to take a cab. I will see 
you over to the other depot with the greatest of pleasure. 
I see we shall have no trouble in getting a cab — there 
are plenty about. I am known hereabouts; there is one 
cab in particular I must get."" 

There! didn’t I tell you that scoundrel was bent upon 
villainy?"" exclaimed the dark-complexioned man with 
suppressed rage, under his breath, to his friend. Did 
you hear the infamous lie he told the girl about the 
depot for Deephurst being up the road, and that he would 
take her there in a cab? If he succeeded in driving off 
in a cab with her, in all probability the world would 
never hear of that foolish girl again."" 

At this moment the crush of the throng was so great, 
the two gentlemen were completely separated from the 
object of their solicitude. And by the time they caught 
sight of Aurelia again, she was seated in one of the 
coaches which lined the platform. 


74 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

Her companion was just about to follow her into the 
carriage, having given directions in a low undertone 
hurriedly to the driver, when he felt himself suddenly 
seized from behind. 

A strong, muscular arm dealt him a stinging blow in 
the face that caused him to measure his full length on 
the platform, and a ringing voice cried out harshly: 

You dastardly wretch, if I were to serve you right, I 
should thrash you within an inch of your miserable life, 
and then hand you over to the police for this as well as 
the many other crimes laid at your door. By Heaven! 
I think I will thrash you to teach you a lesson 

But before the gentleman could put his threat into 
execution, the bold stranger had sprling to his feet, and 
with one dash, and the tieetness of a deer, took himself 
off. 

It was not worth while pursuing him, and the gentle- 
man turned his attention to Aurelia, who had sprung 
from the carriage, screaming with terror. 

You have escaped the worst scoundrel and blackleg 
that this country has ever produced, miss!^^ he ex- 
claimed, adding, severely: ^MVhen young girls are so 
careless of the law which governs good society as to make 
chance acquaintances, nine times out of ten they gome 
to grief through them. You have escaped through little 
less than a miracle! I heard you say you were going to 
Deephurst; there stands your train; I am going there 
myself; there is no other depot. 

He saw her hesitate and glance up at him fearfully, 
would not direct you wrong, or take advantage of 
your foolish innocence, he said, frowning impatiently. 

There is my card,^^ he added; every one hereabouts 
knows me. You can inquire of the conductor yonder for 
yourself, if you prefer. 

Aurelia took the card timidly and glanced at it. Oh, 
horror! 

The name she read engraved upon it was Kandolph 
Clavering! 


THE BE A UTIFUL COQ UETTE. 


75 


CHAPTER XV. 

OH, IT IS DREARY— I AM AWEARY OF RIDIHO ALOHE/" 

Randolph Claverihg! Great Heaven! could it be 
possible that this was he? 

Aurelia looked in dismay from the bit of pasteboard 
she held in her hand to the face of the young man stand- 
ing before her. 

She saw in that one quick, startled glance that he was 
all and finely formed, and of commanding presence — 
probably of some seven-and-twenty years — singularly 
handsome, with the dark beanty of a god; a haughty 
face it was, from the dark, flashing, cold eyes to the 
curl of the scornful lip under the thick drooping mus- 
tache. 

Princely though he looked, he was no lily-handed, 
curled womaiPs darling. He was not the sort of man 
that women make game of and men abhor — in fact, 
those who knew him best declared him a woman-hater, 
if there ever was one. 

Aurelia looked into 'the dark, grim, handsome face, 
the color coming and going in great crimson waves over 
her cheek and brow. 

‘^Mr. — Clavering, she said, very faintly, — I am 
Aurelia Lancaster; I am on my way to you mother^s 
place at Deephurst.'’^ 

And she raised those wondrous wine-dark eyes en- 
treatingly, eagerly to his face. 

He crushed back the imprecation that trembled on his 
lips, and which this sudden intelligence had nearly sur- 
prised him into uttering, and bowed, remarking: 

^^In that case, please consider yourself - in my charge, 
Miss Lancaster. This is our train to Deephurst. 
Conie.'’^ 

Without ceremony he takes her arm, and with swift, 
swinging strides hurries her along the platform with 
more haste than elegance. 

They have barely time to board the train ere it steams 
out from the depot; and in another moment they are 
whirling on as swiftly as steam can carry them toward 
Deephurst. 

As Aurelia sinks back on her seat she steals another 


76 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

glance at her companion seated opposite her, and again 
a flush of deep mortification suffuses her cheek and 
brow. 

What must he think of her? What a pity that he 
happened to be on that train, and saw from beginning 
, to end that terrible flirtation that she thought no one 
would ever know about! AVhat must he think of her? 

After seeing her safely ensconced, Mr. Olavering had 
" drawn a copy of a morning paper from his pocket, and 
was soon deeply absorbed in its columns; but for all that 
he was not entirely oblivious to the fact that a pair of 
wistful dark eyes, looking out from a rose-leaf face, were 
studying him intently. 

An hour passes — two — still Mr. Olavering is deeply im- 
mersed in his paper. 

Aurelia thinks he must have forgotten her entirely. 

^^Mr. Olavering, she breaks in at length, somewhat 
timidly. 

He lays down his paper and looks at her, coldly, ques- 
tioningly. 

I hope 3^011 will not — not mention what happened to- 
day — to your — your mother, she says, with a little 
shiver. 

he replies, with brusque, scant politeness. 

Do you think— even if she knew — she would censure 
me so very much?’^ breathed Aurelia, piteously. 

‘‘1 believe she would — most assuredly,^’ he answered, 
promptly. She is not one to condone a fault. 

What an uncivil bear he is/^ thought the girl, dart- 
ing him an angry look from her blazing eyes. I hate 
Eandolph Clavering. I^m sure I do not envy the girl he 
is going to marry. He might at least have said some- 
thing kind or — or — civil, to take the sting of my mortifi- 
cation away. I believe he enjoys my discomfiture over 
the unfortunate affair; but I am determined on one 
thing, and that is, that he shall not see that I care.^^ 

And she crested her curly head with all the pride of an 
angry [princess, and looked resolutely out of the win- 
dow, staring into vacancy until they reached Deep- 
hurst. 

Clavering alighted from the train and held out his hand 
to assist his companion, but Aurelia drew back with a 
haughty gesture. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


77 


I can help myself, thank yon, ’^ she said, very ungra- 
ciously, and with what she considered a very insolent, 
supercilious smile. 

His hand dropped to his side, and he waited very calm- 
ly for her to make her way down the three steep steps, ‘ 
bundles and all. 

Alas! for Aurelia! She had miscalculated her pow- 
ers. 

Her high French heel caught in the braiding of her 
dress, and the next instant she felt herself whirling 
through space; and she would have struck the platform 
face downward had not Mr. Clavering sprung quickly 
forward and caught her in his arms; but this did not 
prevent the bundles flying in all directions. 

As Mr. Clavering raised her to her feet — his arms 
just a trifle more tightly about the slim waist than the 
occasion really demanded — their eyes met, and, in his 
dark, flashing eyes she reads suppressed amusement. 

Why don^t you laugh right out at me if you want 
to?’’ she cries passionatety, struggling out of his arms. 
^MVhy don’t you tell me that you are very glad of it, 
and that I richly deserve it, as I see you are longing to 
do.” 

Mr. Clavering thinks it rude to disagree with her, so 
makes no reply to this vehement, childish outburst. 

Oh, dear, oh, dear!” Aurelia almost sobs aloud, 
am always making myself ridiculous before Eandolph 
Clavering. I hate him — yes, I do. Those cold, calm 
black eyes of his put my nerves fairly on edge. I could 
not help falling, I’m sure, knowing that he was staring 
at me.” 

There is the coach yonder which will take you to the 
villa,” he said, indicating a splendid private equipage 
standing at some little distance. ^^Will you take my 
arm as far as there?” he adds quietly — and ironically, 
she thinks, and this acts as a spur to her anger. 

^^No, indeed,” she replies, stiffly, with an effort to 
look dignified, which her laughing style of beauty 
renders peculiarly unsuccessful. 

Clavering smothers a smile and bows gravely, conduct- 
ing her in silence to the vehicle. 

This time she makes no remonstrance when he helps 
her into the coach, for, with a quick glance, she sees 


78 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


that the step is high, and she is in imminent danger of 
another catastrope unless she accepts the proffered as- 
sistance. 

She supposes he is going to take the seat beside her, 
*and draws aside her skirts. 

After all, it is a pleasurable anticipation — riding 
through the warm glow of the sunlight in this splendid 
coach — even though she does have to submit to having 
grim, haughty Eandolph Olavering for a companion. 

But instead of following her into the vehicle, Mr. Clav- 
ering turns to the coachman and says, in a voice slight- 
ly louder than he usually used, and by which Aurelia un- 
derstood that the sentence was meant for her quite as 
well as for the man: 

You need not mention at the villa that I came by 
this train, John; they expect me later, and with that 
he lifted his hat with a careless, graceful bow to Aurelia, 
turned, and sauntered away. 

Aurelia told herself that she was delighted at this un- 
expected deliverance from his company; but for all 
that the surrounding hills and vales and the roadsides, 
starred with wild blossoms, pink and white, thick ^s 
evening stars, did not seem half so enjoyable as she had 
anticipated — one cannot enjoy riding alone. Perhaps it 
was the sun shining hotly against the plate- glass win- 
dows that made her feel so uncomfortable — possibly it 
may have been the jolting of the carriage over the rough 
stones of the country road, or — or her tumultuous 
thoughts might have had something to do with it. She 
was wondering what Mr. Eandolph Clavering thought of 
her. 

How unfortunate that he had first seen her under such 
very unfavorable auspices! ISTot that she really cared — 
oh, no, certainly not; but then it is so awfully provoking 
to know that people form adverse opinions of one. 

Aurelia’s reflections came to a sudden end by the 
coach turning abruptly into a grand park. There was 
a short drive up a winding paved road overarched with 
elm-trees. 

Then the villa, an imposing structure of gray stone, 
turrets, and gabled roof peeping out from a network of 
ivy-vines and clambering roses, loomed into sight. Au- 
relia sees that there are two ladies seated on the porch 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 79 

in willow rockers, but slie cannot get a good view of the 
faces for the patchwork of shifting vine-leaves; but she 
surmises in all probability that they are Mrs. Clavering, 
the mother of the much-hated Eandolph, and Miss Ers- 
kine, which surmise proved correct. 

While she is taking this survey, the coachman springs 
down from his box and throws open the door, and Au- 
relia alights. 

Both ladies rise, and as the girl comes forward, one 
lady conies swiftly down the porch to meet her. 

Miss Lancaster,’^ she exclaims in a sweet, low voice, 
holding out her white, thin, jeweled hands, am 
pleased to see you, my dear!^^ and she bends down and 
kisses Aurelia^s red cheek, looking admiringly into the 
dark, piquant beauty of the girks bright young face, 
adding with a smile: Why, you are not like your twin 

sister Margaret in a single feature — how strange! I am 
Mrs. Clavering. 

Aurelia bit her lips to keep from answering hastily — 
that she had been quite sure of that fact from her un- 
mistakable resemblance to her dark, handsome son. 

My dear,’^ continued Mrs. Clavering, allow me to 
present you to Miss Erskine, my husband^s ward. 
Maud, come here, my love, and welcome Miss Lancas- 
ter. 

A tall girl, in a white mull dress, came indolently for- 
ward. Two rather cold lips met Aurelia^s, and Maud 
Erskine murmured a polite fib about being delighted to 
welcome her to the villa. 

Then both girls drew quickly back from each other’s 
embrace and took mental stock of each other. 

^^As beautiful as an houri, and impertinent,” con- 
cluded Miss Erskine. 

In one swift glance Aurelia took in every detail of the 
coiled yellow hair, the sea-blue eyes and calm, proud 
face of her companion, and the thought that passed 
through her brain was: 

So this is the girl — the beauty and the heiress whom 
they wish Eandolph Clavering to marry?” 


80 


BE A XJTIFUL COQ UETTE. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

NEVER TELL THAT WE HAVE MET BEFORE.'’ 
dear/’ says Mrs. Clavering, turning to her 
ward, think you had better take Miss Lancaster up 
to her room; she must be very tired, indeed, from her 
long journey, and will want to rest and freshen up a bit 
before dinner.” 

The words were no sooner uttered than Mrs. Claver- 
ing felt two arms around her neck and a pair of dark, 
sweet eyes were looking into hers, and a voice said, coax- 
ingly: 

Won’t you call me Aurelia, please? I hate to be 
called Miss Lancaster — it sounds so formal, you know.” 

Certainly,” returned Mrs. Clavering, smiling at the 
girl’s charming frankness of manner; 1 should prefer 
t.” 

Miss Erskine’s thin red lip curled scornfully, and a 
sudden gleam came into the sea- blue eyes, and the 
thought flittered through her brain: 

^^Will the little minx make the same request of Mr. 
Clavering, Sr., and — and Randolph, I wonder?” 

But when Aurelia turned toward her, not even the 
faintest shadow of a frown ruffled Miss Erskine's white 
brow. 

^^Come this way,” she said, sweetly, purposely re- 
fraining from calling lier by any name. And together 
the two young girls disappeared within the house. 

Please do not go; do not leave me yet,” entreated 
Aurelia, as they reached the pretty suit of rooms desig- 
nated for her use. love to have some one to talk to 
while I brush out my hair and change my dress; I hate 
being alone — really I do.” 

Just as you like,” responded Miss Erskine, seating 
herself languidly in the blue satin arm-chair by the win- 
dow. I cannot stay very long, though, for I must ar- 
range my own toilet for -dinner; we dine very punctually 
here — six o’clock sharp.” ^ 

Are there to be guests?” asked Aurelia, curiously. 

A pink flush crept up under the alabaster whiteness of 
Miss Erskine’s skin. 

^^No — only the usual members of the family,” she an- 


81 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

swered, carelessly, adding, hesitatingly, ^Mveare expect- 
ing Randolph — that is, Mrs. Clavering^s son — home to 
day. He has been absent over a month. 

Aurelia turned away, that her companion should not 
see the red wave of color that burned hotly in her cheeks 
— ^^not at the mention of that name,^^ she told herself, 

but at the recollection of the knowledge hidden in her 
breast, that Mr. Olavering had come already. He was 
evidently not consumed with over-eagerness to see the 
loved ones at home.^^ 

Have you always lived here asked Aurelia, sud- 
denly, looking thoughtfully at the pretty blonde reclin- 
ing so nonchalantly among the sky-blue cushions. 

Since I was a child, responded Miss Erskine, add- 
ing, Mrs. Clavering seems just like a mother to me.^^ 

And I suppose her son seems just like a brother to 
you?’^ remarked Aurelia, naively. 

That does not necessarily follow,^^ laughed the 
blonde beauty, softly. 

^^Does young Mr. Clavering spend much of his time 
here?^^ asked Aurelia, eagerly, the question falling from 
her lips ere she was aware. 

No; but why do you ask?^^ said Miss Erskine, rais- 
ing her blonde eyebrows in well-bred surprise 

I should think it would make it so much pleasanter 
for you if he did,^^ responded Aurelia. 

Yes,*'^ admitted Miss Erskine, it does make it pleas- 
anter, of course, when Randolph is here. Still, where 
one has seen one all of one^s past life, and must see one 
during all the years to come, why, these short absences 
of a month or two^s duration now and then should not 
be minded. 

Miss Erskine uttered this parting shot with the utmost 
sangfroid, darting a quick glance at Aurelia to see if 
any expression of her face indicated that she had taken 
in the subtle meaning meant to be conveyed in those 
well-chosen words. 

So it is really settled, then — beyond a doubt — that 
you are to marry Randolph Clavering,^^ was the thought 
that burned its way like the sharp cut of a knife through 
Aurelia^s brain. 

But she made no answer. 

Of course they must be betrothed, according to that 


82 ' THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

remark, and yefc, with an anxious glance at the slim 
white hand playing so indolently with the silk balls of 
the curtain, she noticed Miss Erskine wore no engage- 
ment-ring to signify the fact that her future was signed 
and sealed. 

Dinner was a very ceremonious affair at Olavering 
villa. 

The ladies always appeared in fresh, becoming toilets 
for the occasion, whether there were guests or not. 

All of the family plate and rare" old china was brought 
into requisition, and the table was dressed with the 
choicest cut flowers and tropical fruits. 

There was an extra amount of decorations on the table 
to-night in honor of the return of the son whom Mrs. 
Clavering adored. 

Aurelia chose from her wardrobe a pink mull dress 
with loopings of silver ribbon on her breast, and tying 
back her dark curls; but she fairly caught her breath 
when Miss Erskine came to her to show lier the way 
down to the dining-room, saying that the bell had already 
rung, and Mr. Clavering, Sr.-, always insisted upon 
punctuality at meals. 

^^The gentlemen and Mrs. Clavering have already 
preceeded us to the table. Come, Aurelia,^’ she added. 

^^Why, she looks quite as pretty as I do,*^ thought 
vain Aurelia, glancing from her own exquisite face, 
which the mirror reflected, to the tall, graceful, trim 
figure 'draped in a cloud of pale-blue surah and white 
buds standing in the doorway. ^ 

They descended to the dining-room together, and 
the first face Aurelia saw looking at her from over the 
vase of crimson roses at one end of the table, was Kan- 
dolph Clavering^s. 

Mrs. Clavering presented her son to Aurelia, and the 
black eyes seemed to say, as they met and held her own 
for an instant: 

Never mind mentioning that we have met before!’’ 

Aurelia never remembered how she acknowledged the 
introduction. 

She had the uncomfortable knowledge that she was 
blushing furiously, and that Miss Erskine was looking at 
her with cold, surprised eyes. 

She knew too that Kandolph Clavering must have no- 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 815 

ticeci her confusion, for, with fact for which she could 
almost liave blessed him, he drew their attention away 
from her at once, and centered it upon himself, riveting 
it there. 

He could be very entertaining when he liked; but it 
was seldom that Eandolph Clavering exerted himself to 
interest and please. 

As he talked, Aurelia gleaned from his conversation 
that he had been quite a traveler, and this, added to the 
natural polish and refinement a finished course at Yale 
gives, made this well-bred young man rather facinating 
in the girks eyes. 

The conversation was general; he did not direct one 
question to Aurelia; but more than once in raising her 
eyes suddenly — impelled by some magnetic influence she 
could scarcely define — she would find those dark, fathom- 
less, blood-stirring, flashing eyes bent full upon her face 
— and the look in them puzzled her — it was certainly 
not admiration that she read in them. 

There was quite a different light in his eyes when he 
looked at Miss Erskine or addressed her. 

After dinner the young ladies sought the parlor, and 
the secret wish in the heart of both was, that Randolph 
Clavering would join them there, but he did not come, 
and after awhile it grew a trifle tedious to these two 
young girls trying to amuse each other, when the heart 
of neither one was in the work. 

Mrs. Clavering joined them, but, as she always fell 
into a dose over her magazine when she attempted to 
read by the mellow glow of the gas lamp, she was soon 
in that land of bliss from whence the mortal spirit re- 
turns all too soon — happy dreamland. 

Aurelia suppresses a yawn, and inwardly hopes that 
all evenings at Clavering villa will not be spent in this 
fashion; if they were, she would certainly die of ennui. 

Miss Erskine notices the suppressed yawn, and says, 
quickly: 

Tell me when you are tired and wish to go to your 
room.^^ 

The ormolu clock on the marble mantel points its 
gilded hand to nine. Of course Mr. Randolph Claver- 
ing will not come into the parlor now, so Aurelia seizes 
the opportunity of breaking away from Miss Erskine^s 


84 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

company with as much alacrity as good breeding will 
permit. 

The girls exchange good -night very sweetly, and 
kiss each other — was there ever such a sham in this 
world as the kisses of women, anyhow? and Aurelia 
flits down the broad corridor, and up the stairs to her 
room. 

Nine, rings out some deep-throated clock in a far-off 
belfry. Aurelia flings herself down in a chair by the 
window and wonders what she will do with herself for 
the next hour; only nine o^clock — it is but the edge of 
the evening — she can never sleep before ten. A lucky 
thought comes to her; why not go down to the library, 
get some good novel — if the shelves of this stately house 
contain such a rarety — and come back and read herself 
to sleep? 

Aurelia is a creature of impulse, she acts on the 
thought at once; she gains the library, and is just about 
to push open the door which is slightly ajar, when the 
sound of her own name on the lips of some one within 
the room causes her to pause involuntarily an instant and 
peer curiously in; and this is what she sees: Eandolph 
Clavering seated in an arm-chair by the library table, 
one hand resting on his chair, his dark, handsome head 
thrown back, and Miss Erskine kneeling on a low has- 
sock at his side. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

^^OH, COITSTAi^^CY IK LOVE, THOU ART INDEED A 
JEWEL 

Really, Randolph,^^ Miss Erskine was saying in her 
sweet, smooth voice, do you not think Aurelia Lancas- 
ter pretty? You seem to avoid the question. 

If you insist upon an answer — 1 must say no,^^ re- 
turns Mi*. Clavering, sharply and impatiently. 

She has just the style of face — dark, sparkling — with 
that piquant, tip-tilted nose that most men would ad- 
mire,^^says Miss Erskine softly, watching her compan 
ion^s face keenly as she speaks. Adding, more softly: 

WJiy do you not admire her, Randolph?^^ 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


85 


Possibly because the young lady is not my style/^ he 
says, carelessly. 

‘MVhat IS "your style, as you phrase it?'^ she asks 
eagerly. 

quiet, reserved girl, and, above all, a sensible, re- 
fined one,’^ he replies; ‘‘and then, dark men — like my- 
self — prefer fair, very fair women; even in the verdant 
days of callow youth my heart never throbbed the 
faster for the glance of a dark-eyed girl.^^ 

“ You believe there is a natural attraction only in op- 
posites of complexion?-'' she says, in a pleased voice. 

“That is the way it should be,^^ he admits. 

Aurelia waits to hear no more. She realizes the truth 
very bitterly of the old adage, that listeners never hear 
any good of themselves. 

She wheels suddenly about and flies noiselessly back 
to her own room. 

Her face is one burning flush from throat to forehead, 
and angry tears stand on her long lashes. 

“ Not his style, indeedT^ she cries, clinching her little 
hands angrily together and striding up and down the 
room very much like a ruffled panther. 

“He likes refined, quiet, sensible girls, does he? Evi- 
dently I am not one of those in his mind^s eye; of 
course he was thinking of that — that provoking episode 
that happened on the train. Oh, dear, how I hate him! 
How unfortunate that he was on that train, she mut- 
ters, between her angry sobs. 

She resolves to go back to Eomaine Farm the very 
next day, and not stay a moment longer than is neces- 
sary beneath the roof where the grim, hateful son dis- 
likes her so. 

And full of this determination, the discomfited beauty 
creeps into bed, draws the lavender-scented sheets tight- 
ly up around her curly head — her face downward buried 
deep in the eider-down pillow — drifts into a deep sleep, 
and dreams of the dark, handsome, haughty face of 
Eandolph Clavering. 

Morning dawns, bright and golden, and the moment 
Aurelia opens her heavy-lidded eyes the events that tran- 
spired on the previous evening come back to her. 

Shall she go directly home again or not? is the ques- 
tion that agitates her to no little extent, as she hurries 


86 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

through her toilet. Shall she run away like a little cow- 
ard, or shall she stay, and vanquish this foe on his own 
battle-ground — let him see that she does not care one 
snap of her white fingers whether he likes her or detests 
her? She is sure of one thing — the feeling of dislike is 
certainly mutual. 

She takes extra pains, though, in choosing her dress. 
She selects the one with the soft, crimson silk bows that 
Gerald Eomaine liked best to see her in. 

How much Gerald admired it; ten to one Eandolph 
Clavering would not even notice it; still it was not for 
him she was taking so much pains to enhance her beauty 
— certainly not — oh, dear, no! 

Mr, Eandolph Clavering was reading his morning pa- 
per at the table when the two girls entered the breakfast- 
room a little later. 

He bowed very politely to both, then resumed his 
reading; evidently Miss Lancaster not being Ms guest, 
he did not feel called upon especially to entertain her. 
There were enough to entertain and put themselves out 
of the way for her without liim troubling himself. 

At length, when they bring in his coffee and rolls, he 
lays down his paper and allows them to drag him into 
the conversation. 

They have seated Aurelia opposite him, and he looks 
at her face now and then as she speaks or laughs gayly — 
his keen eyes undazzled by all the pretty tints and har- 
monious hues that feast them. 

Aurelia ignores him completely — never once does he 
catch the dark, bright, saucy eyes turned in his direc- 
tion, after the first formal glance that accompanied her 
bow as she seated herself; and Eandolph Clavering 
rather likes that. He likes immensely to be let alone by 
women. 

They make a dead set for him usually, and ho makes 
it a matter of point to show them that, if not a woman- 
hater in truth, he has at least a heart that is invulner- 
able. 

He is glad; if Miss Lancaster is to remain at the villa 
a month, she will not expect him to dance attendance 
upon her. She has a trifie more sense, he thinks, than 
he credited her with. 

Mrs. Clavering had liked calm, sweet Margaret Lan- 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 87 

caster well; but she fairly adored Aurelia, after the fash- 
ion of every one in general. 

She determined that Aurelia^s visit at the villa should 
be a memorable one to the girl — it was destined to be, in 
more ways than one. 

We must crowd as much pleasure as is possible into 
every day, my dear,^^ said she, smiling fondly into Aure- 
lia^s lovely face. We have something on the tapis for 
almost every day in the week, I believe. I have given 
my ward carte blanche to begin the festivities with a 
grand ball. Shall you like that?^^ 

Yes,^^ declared Aurelia, entliusiastically ; it will be 
delightful. 

We have not had many balls at the villa of late 
years,'"' continued the lady, ^^for my son Eandolph does 
not dance now; unlike most young men, he detests it. 
A ball is the height of frivolity, in his estimation.'' 

He will surely be present at this one, will he not?" 
asked Aurelia, suddenly — eagerly. 

If I were to venture an opinion, I should say not," 
laughed Mrs. Clavering, uneasily. 

‘‘ But how can he help being present when it is in his 
own house?" persisted Aurelia, curiously. 

^^He always makes it a point to absent himself on all 
such festive occasions — I cannot really comprehend 
clearly why." 

Then let us not have the ball, if your son has such an 
aversion to them," said Aurelia, thinking what a failure 
the ball would really be if Eandolph Clavering were not 
there. 

But Mrs. Clavering would not hear to this. 

No; the ball must be given, that Aurelia might meet 
all the young people thereabout who were worth know- 

To the intense surprise of the whole family, when in- 
formed of it, Eandolph signified his intention of being 
present. 

The week that intervened between that and date fixed 
for the grand event, passed all too quickly to Aurelia. 

Almost every hour in the day she saw Eandolph Clav- 
ering. 

And from the time she left Eomaine Farm, through 
all those fleeting days, not once did Aurelia's ficklejieart 


88 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

turn to the fair-haired young lover who was wearing his 
very heart out with hopeless watching, and waiting for 
the letter that failed to come. 

Only Margaret — faithful, patient, sorrowing Margaret 
— saw his anxiety, and guessed truly the cause of it. 

Twice a day he saddled his horse, and rode over to the 
village post-office. 

Margaret knew that he must have gone there, for he 
always came back with a face as white as death. By 
that she surmised, too, that his errand must have been 
fruitless. 

How she pitied Gerald Eomaine then! 

He could not bear the heart-burning suspense any 
longer. He must talk to somebody about it, so one day 
he sought out Margaret, where she 'was picking fruit in 
the orchard. 

He flung himself down on the grass, and watched si- 
lently the white fingers among the green leaves for 
awhile; then, at length, burst out suddenly: 

Oh, Margaret, what in the world is the reason, do 
you suppose, that Aurelia does not write to us? She 
has been gone a week — seven long days — and yet we have 
no word from her — not a line, DonT — donT — you find 
— it — unbearable, almost 

She looked at the white, haggard face with the deepest 
pity; her heart ached for him. 

Ah, me, what a wealth of love he lavished on Aurelia. 

She longed, with all her womanly heart, to go up to 
him and kneel beside him, and comfort him; but that 
must not be. 

She turned to him calmly. 

You know, Gerald, she said simply, Aurelia al- 
ways disliked writing. We shall hear from her one of 
these days — very soon, I hope.'’^ 

Where her heart is, there her thoughts are also,^^ he 
quoted miserably. If her thoughts were with me — 
with us — he corrected quickly — her will to have writ- 
ten would have been so great that she must have obeyed 
it; and it would have been a pleasure to her, doiiT you 
think so?^^ 

^^She may be refraining from writing, to make us the 
more anxious to receive her letters, returned Margaret, 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


89 


with an attempt to laugh, and that we may prize them 
the more when we do get fchem/^ 

But he shook his head with a deep, heavy sigh. 

AVhere there is trice love, Margaret, he said grave- 
ly, no such thoughts enter the heart. Believe me, 
Avhen letters are few and far between — no matter how 
ardent they are in the beginning — love soon cools — it 
must — it must — it needs constant application, with some 
hearts, to keep love in a flame. Margaret, I have a 
strange premonition of coining evil. I cannot shake it 

Poor Gerald! It took material shape sooner than he 
expected. 


CHAPTEE XVIII. 

DOES SHE LOYE ME — OR HATE ME?^^ 

It was a new life for Aurelia; the gayety and bright- 
ness of it fascinated her. 

This was something worth living for, being sur- 
rounded with luxury a princess might envy, eating the 
choicest of food on dishes of silver, and being waited 
upon by liveried servants. 

How happy Maud Erskine must be in the knowledge 
that all this splendor was to be hers forever; yes, for- 
ever, and dark, handsome Kandolph Clavering was to 
be given into the bargain as her husband. 

Surely Miss Erskine’s lines had fallen in pleasant 
places. 

Aurelia could not see that there was much affection 
between Mr. Olavering and Maud; but then, people in 
high life always eschewed the Joan and Darby style of 
courtship as exceedingly bad form. 

Still, they might show a little more interest in each 
other, she thought. 

Since the hour Aurelia heard the remark that fell 
from Eandolph Clavenng^s lips about her not being 

his style, she avoided him on every possible occa- 
sion. 

If she is in the library and he enters it, she rises from 
her seat and leaves the room; if she is in the drawing- 
room and he saunters in, she makes a hasty exit at once; 


90 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

if lie joins Miss Erskine and herself on the lawn, she 
finds an excuse to break away at the earliest possible 
moment. 

At first Eandolph Olavering is immensely satisfied with 
this procedure. 

Miss Lancaster has more sense than he at first gave 
her credit for, he tells himself, grimly. She has done 
what all the rest of the girls who come to the villa do 
not, she has left him alone. 

But after a little this constant avoidance of him rather 
piques the handsome heir of Clavering villa. 

“ Upon my word, the girl actually acts as though she 
thought me an ogre,^^ he thought, angrily, as Aurelia 
swept out of the drawing-room like a young queen one 
day immediately upon his entrance, and without an ap- 
parently good reason. 

This is the first time this phase of the case has ap- 
peared to Mr. Clavering, and evidently he does not relish 
it, for his dark brows deepen into a decided frown; 
surely it cannot be his fancy. 

He makes up his mind to study Aurelia Lancaster 
more closely, and see if she has really an aversion to 
him. 

He thought over the matter when he went to his smok- 
ing-room that day. 

That was the one place where he could always think 
in peace, for, in this isolated room, which no one save 
himself ever entered, no servant dare disturb the young 
master of Clavering villa. 

His temper was the worst thing about Eandolph 
Clavering. 

Two or three luckless servants, who had had the hardi- 
hood to seek him here, repeatedly knocking for admis- 
sion, knowing him to be within, had met a reception 
when the door opened to them at length, that they never 
forgot. 

This room saw much of Eandolph Clavering; days at 
a time he spent here, whenever he was at the villa, 
keeping the apartment securely locked when he was 
away. 

The floor was inlaid with marble — black and white; — 
and as polished as a mirror where the heavy rugs strewn 
about did not obstruct it from view. 


01 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

Ormolu tables and costly buhl chairs were strewn about 
the apartment, and oaken cabinets loaded with intaglios 
stood facing the western wall. 

These, and numerous costly articles of bizarrerie, which 
Eandolph Clavering called his world-scrapings^^ — for 
he had collected all of the unique furnishings of this 
apartment abroad — testified to the reckless extrava- 
gance of their owner. 

A stranger, looking upon Randolph Clavering for the 
first time, would have found it difficult, in gazingatthat 
dark, grim, handsome face, to realize that he was but 
seven or eight-and-twenty. No rosy memories of early, 
happy manhood lingered here, no dewy gleam of the 
bright morning of life when hope painted and peopled a 
smiling world. 

Midnight orgies and habitual excesses had left their 
never-to-be- mistaken marks on his countenance. 

People hinted secretly that he must have had some 
deep love-affair abroad, that made him, when he re- 
turned, so truly a woman-hater — else why was he so 
cynical, acrid, and bitter? 

He was living far in advance of his youth. His brill- 
iant intellect would have lifted him to any eminence he 
desired, and which, if properly directed, would have 
made him an ornament to society, which he took much 
satisfaction in snubbing and deriding. 

Like all strong, though misguided natures, the very 
power of his brilliant mind enhanced his wretchedness, 
and drove him farther and farther from the path of 
rectitude, while the consciousness that he was originally 
capable of higher and purer aims and nobler pursuits 
than those that now engrossed his perverted thoughts, 
rendered him savagely morose. 

Randolph Clavering threw himself down in an easy- 
chair by the window, and, with a cigar between his lips, 
looked the question curiously in the face — was he so 
much of an ogre that he inspired hate, abhorrence, in the 
heart of this young girl? The thought aroused him to 
something very like anger. 

From his window he could see Miss Erskine and Aure- 
lia out on the lawn. 

The girl had pleasant enough smiles for Miss Erskine 


92 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

— liow quickly her face grew haughty and cold at his 
approach. 

Eandolph Clavering watched her curiously; he had 
told himself over and over again that, young as she was, 
no woman of the world was more of an adept in the mis- 
erable art of coquetry and flirtation than she. Had he 
not witnessed it on the train, the first time he had ever 
seen her? 

Bah! why should he waste a thought on this pretty, 
gypsyish-faced girl? but, though he said that, he could 
not help but watch keenly the slim, white-robed figure, 
as she flitted to and fro on the lawn. 

Aurelia was having a game of croquet with Miss Ers- 
kine — he wondered if she would find some excuse to leave 
the lawn if he sauntered out there. 

A moment later both of the girls saw him leisurely ap- 
proaching. 

He stopped short a few feet from them, leaned against 
the trunk of a tree, and proceeded to indolently watch 
the game through the blue wreaths of smoke from his 
fragrant Havana. 

Won^t you join us, Eandolph ?^^ asks Miss Erskine, 
stooping to reinstate a fallen hoop, and looking eager in- 
vitation at him out of her sea* blue eyes. 

Eandolph Clavering hesitates, and looks toward Au- 
relia to see if she will second the invitation, but she does 
not appear to see him slie is so intent in examining her 
mallet. 

It is years since he has touched a mallet — and he hates 
the game. Miss Erskine well knows, and she is rendered 
quite speechless to see him come forward saying: 

Since you and Miss Lancaster desire it so particular- 
ly, I don^t mind taking a mallet.^^ 

Fm sure I did not say I desired it, Mr. Clavering,” 
said Aurelia, with a wicked, saucy look at him from her 
black, flashing eyes. The color comes into her dimpled 
face and lips, and she glories in the fact that she has had 
one good shot at him, which pays him back handsomely 
for that ungracious remark that she was not ^^his style, 
not sensible,” etc. 

Oh, I beg your pardon,” he says, struggling with a 
grim smile at this dash of spirit, and throwing down the 
mallet, I wonT exhibit my skill unless you say you 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 93 

particularly wish it. It is the stupidest game that ever 
any idiot invented, anyhow — not fit to amuse babies — 
ridiculous for grown men and women to engage in.^^ 

Xot half so ridiculous as billiards, and they say you 
are an adept at that,^^ fiashed back Aurelia, spiritedly. 
Billiards is a scientific game,^^ he answered, coldly, 
should like to know if coquet— which is on the 
same principle, is not equally as much so?^^ retorted 
Aurelia. 

At that moment some one from the house calls to 
Miss Erskine — and although she is in a secret rage at 
leaving those two tete-a-tete together — she has no choice 
but to go. 

will be back almost directly, she says, sweetly, 
and one heart which she leaves behind her hopes to 
Heaven that she will not make unnecessary haste in re- 
turning. 

This is the first time Eandolph Clavering has found 
himself alone with Aurelia for a number of days. 

She is just about to follow Miss Erskine, when he puts 
a detaining hand on her arm. 

^^Do not go just yet,^^ he said — adding with a dash of 
hauteur in his voice — I am not a roaming lion, you 
need not be afraid of my devouring you, young lady. 
Please do not go, 1 want to talk to you,^^ and as he spoke 
he drew nearer to her unconsciously. 

She, looking at him — so handsome in his dark, fascinat- 
ing beauty, with the halo of wealth about him, trium- 
phant, indifferent, utterly ignoring the charms of fair 
women, almost laughing at them, and Treating them as 
though they were exquisite toys, longed to know if he 
had a heart. 

This thought came to her with the force and keen- 
ness of a sharp instrument. She longed to see that 
expression of supreme indifference fade from his face. 

Aurelia looked up and met his keen, searching gaze, 
and her heart commenced throbbing. 

Was it possible that proud, haughty Eandolph Claver- 
ing, whom they said hated women, and whose parents 
were using every endeavor to wed to the heiress of their 
choice, was falling in love with herself? 

The dream was so dazzling — so wild, that for a mo- 


94 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

ment it fairly made Aurelia^'s senses dazed as she* stood 
there. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

SEE THY FACE m EVERY DREAM — MY WAKIKG 
THOUGHTS ARE FULL OF THEE.'’ 

I WILL listen to what you have to say, providing it 
does not take you very long to say it," replied Aurelia, 
affecting an indifference she was far from feeling. 

For a moment he was silent. Then he turned to her 
slowly, asking gravely: 

I should like to ask you this one question, Miss Lan- 
caster: why do you hate me so bitterly? AVhat reason 
have I ever given you for it? I should be pleased if you 
would give me a perfectly candid answer." 

The remarkable and unexpected question fairly amazed 
Aurelia. 

She retreated a step, looking at him with wide-open, 
astonished eyes, her cheeks burning as scarlet as the 
deep-red passion roses on her fluttering bosom. 

Mr. — Clavering," she stammered, what can you 
mean?" 

Simply what I have said," he retorted. What have 
I ever done that should cause you to hate me? I know 
you do hate me — do not deny it." 

You are quite wrong in your surmise, Mr. Claver- 
ing," said Aurelia. I do not dislike you." 

‘^Then why do you avoid me so constantly?" he asked 
flrmly. 

You are pleased to be fanciful," she replied, smiling 
coyly up into his dark, handsome, gloomy face. I 
have never sought to avoid you — that is all your imagi- 
nation." 

He looked at her steadily, searchingly, a moment, 
then suddenly reached out and grasped her two little 
white hands, that were busily engaged in ruthlessly tear- 
ing a crimson rose to pieces, petal by petal, and flinging 
them down on the greensward at her feet. 

I have been looking at you and wondering what kind 
of a soul lay behind that beautiful face," he said, 
slowly. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


95 


souls interest you as much as faces?’^ she asked 
curiously. 

Quite as much/Mie replied. ^^Man of the world 
though I am — although there are few to whom I should 
admit as much — one does*^ not tell the real thoughts of 
one’s heart except to one’s most intimate friends.” 

Do you class me among your most intimate friends, 
Mr. Clavering?” she murmured shyly, well pleased. 

Yes, if you will permit me to do so.” 
am quite willing,” she said smiling. But how 
long is this friendship to last — forever?” 

^^No,”he replied, ^^but only until one or the other 
should love. If ” 

The sentence broke off in a muttered imprecation, 
which he crushed between his white teeth. 

Glancing suddenly up, he saw Maud Erskine hurrying 
toward them. 

He dropped Aurelia’s fluttering hands. 

Why do people always interrupt just at the moment 
when they are at least wanted?” he said, with a forced 
laugh. 

The afternoon mail has just come up,” said Miss 
Erskine sweetly. There were some letters for me, and 
as there was one for you, I brought it out to you, Au- 
relia,” she added, placing a square, white envelope in 
the girl’s hand. 

Aurelia took it from her. 

One glance at the chirograph y, and she recognized 
Gerald Romaine’s writing. 

We will sic under the trees and read our letters,” said 
Maud. ^^Jt is pleasanter than taking them to the house, 
it is so close and warm there.” 

^^ Mine is not very important — it can wait!” declared 
Aurelia, thrusting the letter quickly in her pocket; but 
not before Randolph Clavering, in that one quick, casual 
glance he had taken of it, had noted that the superscrip- 
tion of her letter was written in a bold, masculine hand 
— and hated the writer, whoever he may be. 

^^Don’t mind me. Miss Lancaster,” he says, seating 
himself at a little distance. 

He wishes she Avould take that letter out of her pocket 
and read it then and there. 

He wonders if it is from a lover? Surely not! Tho 


96 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

girl is too young to have given a thought to love or 
lovers. 

He should like to know if it is long or short. Contact 
with the world has made him quite an adept at mind- 
reading. 

He would like to study her face as she perused it — to 
see if it could call up blushes or smiles — this letter whose 
superscription was in a masculine hand. 

It was not until Aurelia reached her own room that 
she broke the seal of Gerald Eomaine’s letter — not with 
loving eagerness, but with an impatient frown on her 
face. 

^MVhen I am so happy, why must he write me, to 
bring my thoughts back to that hateful life!’^ she cried, 
stampimg her foot angrily. 

It was a long, closely-written letter, such as most girls 
like best to receive; but there was no glad heart-thrill in 
Aurelia^s bosom — not one kind thouglit of the fair-haired 
lover who had penned it — as she drew it from the en- 
velope and unfolded it with impatient hands. 

It would have touched any other girl by its tenderness 
— not so Aurelia. 

My Darling,'^ — it ran — I have waited, longed, and 
watched for a letter from you until patience has almost 
ceased to be a virtue with me. It is a week to-day since 
you left us, and how long and inexpressibly dreary the 
time has passed with me, you will never know. I have 
counted the long, dragging hours from sunrise to sun- 
rise again, thinking t^-morrow must surely bring me a 
letter; but I was doomed to disappointment with each 
succeeding day. I earnestly pray Heaven, my darling, 
that you may never experience such slow torture as I 
have endured in watching for your letters. It seems tc 
me that you might take a few moments in which to write 
me — if it be only a line, dear! 

I wonder vaguely, oftentimes, if your thoughts are 
as much with me as mine are with you? I think of you 
with my first waking thought; your face smiles up at me 
from the waving grasses, the pale petals of the roses, and 
the waving green leaves of the trees as I pass them. I 
think of you through the long, dull watches of the night, 
and fall asleep witli your dear name on my lips — only to 
dream of you! 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


97 


Oh, Aurelia — precious one — I sometimes think there 
was never before, in the heart of man, a love so deep, so 
soul-absorbing as mine. 

Looking forward to the time when I can claim you is 
the loadstar of my existence — the one happy dream of 
my life. 

You do not know how hard I am working to make 
fame, a name, and wealth for you, dearest! I long to 
surround you with all the pretty luxuries which I know 
so Avell my Aurelia^s heart craves. Sometimes I sit up 
all night and work patiently over my patents. Oh, my 
darling, I must be successful with them; there is no such 
word as failure with me. Heaven must let me succeed 
— there is so much at stake for me. 

Let me urge you not to delay writing to me, dear. I 
could work so much better if I had but one line from 
you to cheer me with my work. 

In your reply, dear, do not forget to tell me if you 
have met the son, Eandolph Clavering, yet, and what he 
is like, what impression you have formed of him, if you 
find him an agreeable companion, and if you see very 
much of him. 

^^Tell me how you pass your time, if you are happy, 
or if you are beginning to feel lonely away from me. 
Has this Eandolph Clavering a sweetheart? 

^^lam sure, my darling, you do not give any one but 
myself one thought; still, it would be a deep and sincere 
pleasure to me if you would assure me of this in your 
letter. 

Believe me, dearest, I cannot wait patiently much 
longer for a letter; if I do not hear from you in the 
course of the next three days I shall come on to Deep- 
hurst to find out what is the matter. 

Surely, darling, you have not fallen ill, and are re- 
questing them to keep it from me. >The very thought 
fills me with wild alarm. Do write me at once, love, to 
dispel my fears. And believe me to be, now and forever 
more, your loving, devoted Gekald.'’" 

Aurelia read the letter ’through without one tender 
gleam lighting her dark eyes, skimming it over to get 
to the end of it as quickly as possible, that she might 
join the others on the lawn again. 


98 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

Heavens!'^ she cried, excitedly, springing to her 
feet as she came to the sentence where Gerald threaten- 
ed to come on to Deephurst; ‘‘such a calamity must 
be averted at all hazards. He would keep his word, 
Tm sure. I will have to write him this very day to keep 
him quiet.^^ 

She wishes idly, as she toys with the envelope, that 
Gerald Eomaine did not love her quite so much. This 
affair is growing altogether too serious. 

She repents, too, of those few hastily spoken words 
which bind her to Gerald. 

But for this engagement she would be free to be wooed 
and won — by Eandolph Clavering. 

She gives a great start as the thought comes to her; it 
is the first time she has ever thought of him in that 
light; and then — she remembers the reported betrothal 
of Eandolph Clavering to Miss Erskine, but then, be- 
trothals were nothing, it was not until he stood at the 
altar with Miss Erskine that he would be completely lost 
to her, she told herself. 

Aurelia felt sure young Mr. Clavering was interested 
in her; else why should he care so much for her good 
opinion? 

Oh, what a grand, dazzling dream it was to her — to 
think what the future might l3e as his wife. 

She could have the life of luxury then that she craved. 
And dull, prosy existence would be heaven on earth with 
a man like him to love her. 


CHAPTEE XX. 

‘‘I AM OF YOU EVERY DAY^ 

Gerald Eomaine had not long to wait for his reply; 
it came within two days after he had written his 
letter to Aurelia, and he knew she must have answered* 
it directly after she had read it. 

He had ridden to the village post-office so many times 
within the last week, that the clerk was glad to hand 
him out the letter he was so eagerly looking for, remark- 
ing, he hoped it was the one he was expecting. 

Gerald could not stop to answer him, the fever of 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 99 

anxiety was so great to read wliat liis darling had writ- 
ten. 

He rode rapidly away, never stopping until he had 
reached the road on the outskirts of the village. 

Here he would be free from interruption, and hastily 
dismounting, he tied his horse to a tree, and flung him- 
self down among the cool shadows in the daisy-studded 
grass, and with eager hands tore open the envelope. 

A cold chill of disappointment at the first glance passed 
over him. The letter was so brief; and then it chills the 
heart, too, to find a page half blank in a letter — as 
though the writer could find no more to say. Those who 
really love can fill up a score of pages in writing to the 
one beloved, and then feel that they have not said one 
half that was in their heart. 

There is no better way in the world to guage a lover^s 
affection. 

But this did not occur to Gerald Komaine. 

Eagerly he devoured every word, investing each sen- 
tence with the deepest kind of love. Where one is so 
desperately in love, the commonest sentence is freighted 
with all that is beautiful in sentiment. 

^^Deak Gerald, — Aurelia wrote — ^^You must not 
think me so awfully unkind for not writing before; and, 
indeed, you would actually feel sorry for me if you knew 
how very many long letters I have written to you, and 
not thinking them good enough to send, tore them up 
again. I could never bear to write letters anyhow. The 
very minute I pick up a pen, every thought in my head 
flies from me, and I cannot think of a single nice thing 
to say to save my life. 

^^The Claverings are very nice people, and so is Miss 
Maud Erskine, old Mr. Clave ring’s ward. She is a great 
heiress. I do not think her a bit pretty, though every- 
body else does. 

Clavering Villa is a splendid place. They try to 
make it very pleasant for me. They have a great big 
library here, but the books are all so prosy I donT^ care 
for them. 

Oh, Gerald, I must not forget to tell you that I’m 
reading a book now, all about what young wives do wheii 
they go housekeeping, and Fm going to read a cook book 


100 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

through after I finish with this — though I clon^t suppose 
it will be very interesting; as far as 1 read was awfully 
dull. 

Vm thinking of you night and day. Don’t come 
here, Gerald — it wouldn’t be polite, because you were 
not invited by the Clavering’s, you know — and if there’s 
anything they are strict about, it’s social customs — 
proper form— etiquette. I haven’t time to write any 
more just now, for I want to read another chapter about 
‘Housekeeping and Young Wives’ before it is quite 
dark. Don’t come here, Gerald. 

“ Yours ever so truly. 

“Aurelia.” 

Gerald Romaine read the letter over and over again 
impulsively, pressing his lips to every line he read. 

“Ah, how I love her,” he murmured, tears dimming 
his dark-blue eyes; “she thinks of me night and day, 
she says; bless her for those comforting words! they 
will live in my heart until J see my darling and fold her 
in my arms!” 

He threw his fair curly head back and laughed aloud 
at the idea of Aurelia — his pretty, dainty Aurelia — study- 
ing a cook-book; of course she found it dull; she should 
never have anything of that kind to do — never. She 
should have a servant; those slender, lily-white hands 
were never made for the drudgery of homely house- 
work. He must have every luxury for her, he told him- 
self. 

For an instant a rueful look crossed his face as to 
where the money was to come from to do all this, but he 
banished it quickly away. Heaven mtist prosper him 
with his patents, for her dear sake, he murmured. 

It was a happy ride back to the farm for Gerald; the 
green, sloping hills seemed more beautiful; the sunshine 
more golden; the flowers more fragrant; and the song 
of the birds more sweet than when he passed that way 
an hour before. It is so strange how love can radiate 
life! 

Margaret noticed the change in him the moment her 
eyes rested on him. 

The color had returned to his face, the shadow was 
lifted from his eyes; he was gay and happy — in the best 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


101 


of spirits; his laugh rang out clear and joyous. She 
knew what was the matter with him at once — he must 
have had a letter from Aurelia; there was nothing else 
in the wide world that could have wrought such a 
change in him. 

But she made no comment. 

That evening, for the first time, Gerald sought her. 

‘^Come, let us wander out into the grounds, Margy,^^ 
he said. ^^It is lonely to walk alone. Will you come?” 

The giiTs heart thrilled with a pleasure so keen that 
it was almost pain; but she was not one to show her 
emotion. 

She took up her hat, tied it on her fair hair, and went 
out into the grounds with him. 

^^Oh, Margaret, he cried, impulsively seizing her 
hand, when they were out of sight and hearing of those 
at the house, have had a letter from AureliaP 
thought so!” she returned, quietly. 

^MVhy, how could you possibly have guessed it, 
Margy?” he cried, gayly. 

thought it Avas about time f(fr her to write — that 
is all,” she made answer, drawing her hand from his 
clasp. 

Margaret,” he said, eagerly, ^^if you knew the com- 
fort to me of finding a friend to whom I can speak about 
Aurelia, you would know how happy you have made me 
in accompanying me out here — you would, indeed, 
Margy!” 

She was a good and gentle girl, but she could have 
laughed a bitter laugh, more cruel than a sob, at those 
words. His friend] When will men learn that women 
who have loved them can never be simply their friend? 
Open enmity, or the coldness of strangers, Avould be a 
thousand times more preferable. 

They had strolled in the moonlight beneath these very 
trees, with his arms about her — happy lovers, and now 
he had brought her there to tell her of his love for an- 
other. 

Death could not have been harder to bear. It would 
have been more merciful if he had raised his hand and 
stricken her down at his feet. 

He quite forgot that Margaret had ever loved him — 
his every thought was for and about Aurelia, and the 


102 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


girl by his side uttered no word. He did not notice that 
every now and then she raised her white face to the star- 
gemmed heavens; he did not know she was asking the 
listening angels to plead with God to give her strength to 
bear it. 

So, through the gloaming that had deepened into 
night, they walked up and down under the waving trees; 
and no one looking at thegirFs calm face could have told 
that her pure, gentle heart was breaking. 

He made her his confidante, and she listened to him; 
she heard, without betraying her emotion, his plans and 
hopes — how he trusted some day to be famous, to be 
rich; how he intended to work at his patents night and 
day to perfect and complete them, and, as soon as he had 
money enough, marry Aurelia. 

^^But, Gerald,^^ she said, looking into his flushed, 
eager face, ‘^all this will take along time. You cannot 
make a great name and wealth in a few days — it may take 
years. Will Aurelia be willing to wait for you?^^ 

‘^1 have no fear, Margaret,^^ he replied. Indeed, I 
dare not fear. I could not fail in winning her. I must 
do all this within three months — I cannot wait for her 
longer. When a man^s whole heart and soul are flxed 
on one idea, it must be carried out. I could not fail, 
Margy. Nothing but death could keep me from making 
the woman I love my wife. You see that sky over- 
head? I swear by it that I will make her my wife.^^ 

She was frightened at his eagerness and vehemence. 
Was this the Gerald she had thought so cool, so indiffer- 
ent, so poor a lover, this man all fire, all enthusiasm, all 
passion? 

How dearly you love her, Gerald, she said faintly, 
and there was a sob in her voice; but he did not hear 
that. 

He laughed a happy laugh that she never forgot. 

Yes, I love her,^^ he replied. If I dare I should 
say that it was cruel for a man to have the power to love 
a woman as I love her. It is dangerous. It would be 
death to any one who came between us. I never knew 
how poor words were until I tried to express my love by 
them, Margaret. 

There was something pathetic about Gerald Komaine^s 
idolatry for dark-eyed Aurelia. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


103 


His heart was light; he went to his room early, to be 
by himself to read Aurelia^s letter all over again. 

Gerald Avent to sleep that night with his heart full of 
triumph; his dreams were pleasant, for he dreamed of 
the fair face of the girl beloved so well; and Margaret 
Avent to her humble attic room, and knelt down and 
prayed for strength, that she might not break doAvn 
under her burden, and Avept until the dawn of morning 
gleamed in the eastern sky. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

I FIRST m YOUR HEART 

Wheh Aurelia had dispatched her letter to Gerald 
Eomaine, she felt easier, 

‘^That Avill bridge the difficulty over very nicely,^’ she 
said to herself. That will keep him away from Claver- 
ing villa, and straightway she proceeded to forget him, 
devoting herself to the daily pleasures that surrounded 
her. 

To her surprise and annoyance, Randolph Clavering 
did not seek her side again, to finish the conversation 
Miss Erskine had interrupted. 

He seemed to have utterly forgotten that he had asked 
very earnestly that he might see her again. 

Thus matters stood up to the day of the long looked- 
for ball. To Aurelia, this Avas to be the greatest event 
of her life. The first ball a young girl attends usually 
is. 

Miss Erskine did not seem much elated OA^er the con- 
templation of it — a ball Avas certainly no novelty to the 
haughty heiress — she was greatly surprised, however, 
at Randolph Clavering’s avowal that he would be pres- 
ent. 

She took more than ordinary pains Avith her toilet that 
evening, and it Avas certainly a vision of loA^eliness — if 
anybody liked such cold, statuesque beauty, that greeted 
Aurelia’s eyes, as Miss Erskine tapped at her door to see 
if she were ready to go down to the parlors. 

Aurelia uttered a cry of delight as she saw her; what 
could be more entrancing than this vision in sky-blue 


104 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

tulle and foamy-white lace, with diamonds that seemed 
like a rope of fire about the firm alabaster throat, on the 
Avhite arms, swinging from the perfect little ears, and 
twined amidst the meshes of her golden hair. 

Of course Eandolph Clavering must love her if he has 
ever seen her looking — like this; and Aurelia'^s heart gave 
a great jealous twinge. Her own white tulle with the 
simple garniture of fresh pine rose-buds seemed wonder- 
fully commonplace in comparison. But then, she was 
prettier than MissErskine, Aurelia told herself vainly — 
and beauty counted for something. 

The ball was a grand success — the elite of the whole 
surrounding country was present — but as the hours rolled 
on, and Eandolph Clavering did not put in an appear- 
ance, Aurelia^s high spirits began to wane, surrounded 
though she was by a whole coterie of admirers. 

Mrs. 0 lavering, in looking over the throng of guests, 
and not seeing her son, inwardly guessed that he had 
changed his mind about attending the ball, and her sur- 
prise was great upon stepping out upon one of the small 
balconies, to find him seated there, smoking a cigar and 
watching the gay scene within with gloomy eyes and a 
dark frown ori his handsome face. 

Eandolph,^’ she cried, tapping his broad shoulder 
with her fan, why are you not in there enjoying your- 
self? — for shame, sitting here — while so many young 
girls inside are wall-flowers, because they have no part- 
ners. 

It is bad enough to watch other men making fools 
of themselves, he answered brusquely. 

Eandolph exclaimed his mother in amazemant. 

For instance, there^s young Harper, who has had 
the temerity to dance with Miss Lancaster six times in 
succession — if the girl has no better sense than that — he 
should have There he cried — smothering some- 

thing very like an imprecation on his lips — ^"the fellow 
has the hardihood to lead her out for the waltz they are 
just striking up. By Heaven! that makes the seventh; 
really you should speak to Miss Lancaster about it, 
motherT^ 

Young Mr. Harper is such an excellent dancer that 
I have often heard young ladies remark that it is a pleas- 
ure to waltz with him,^^ Mrs. Clavering remarked quiet- 


105 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

ly, adding wistfully; Yoic used to be distinguished in 
the ballroom, Eandolph. I am sorry it. has grown so dis- 
tasteful to you/^ 

He laughed grimly. 

^^It is not the best form in the world to make remarks 
about one’s guests, he said; but I really think I could 
give young Harper some points. Graceful — bah — you 
amuse me, mother, in saying you think that poppinjay 
graceful. I do not know why you invited him here any- 
how. You know I dislike him particularly.^^ 

I was certainly not aware of it, Eandolph, returned 
Mrs. Clavering, surprisedl3^ I thought he was one of 
your intimate companions. Why, when you make up a 
party of gentlemen for your hunting and fishing expedi- 
tions, he is always one of the number. You must have 
grown to dislike him very lately. 

Eandolph Clavering^s dark, handsome face flushed 
burning red. 

I have found out lately that Harper is an idiot,^^ he 
replied impatiently, adding: See what a fool he is 

making of himself to-night. There is neither rhyme nor 
reason in monopolizing a young girl for seven consecu- 
tive dances. Ah, there is Maud without a partner. I 
think I shall ask her for this waltz.-^- 

And into the ballroom he went, and straight up to 
Maud, and the next moment they were whirling away 
together to the melodious measures of My Queen. 

For the next hour or more Eandolph Clavering de- 
voted himself to the timid, pretty wall-flowers, much to 
the anger of Maud Erskine and the chagrin of Aurelia. 

actually believe he does not see me,^^ muttered 
Aurelia, with no little mortification. He always turns 
his head away at my approacli. Surely it could not be 
that he sees me."^^ 

But just at that moment she glanced up, and their 
eyes met. 

The next instant Eandolph Clavering was at her side. 

^^May I have this waltz. Miss LancasterP^Mie said. 
^^Or are you tired 

Yes, she confessed; a little too tired to dance just 
now."^^ 

^^Then perhaps you will promenade with me,^^ he 
urged. 


106 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

She rose afc once and placed her kidded hand on his 
arm. 

Come out into the moonlight/^ he whispered. 

And the low, intense voice in which the words were 
uttered thrilled tlie girl to the very soul. 

Oh, the beautiful world into which they went; a world 
all white with the silvery radiance of the moon, and the 
pale gleam of the stars on the sleeping flowers, the trees, 
and on the flowing waters of the fountain that dripped 
from Undine’s cold, marble white fingers. 

^^This is my favorite spot,” said Aurelia, pausing by 
the fountain. I always bring my books here to 
read.” 

They stood still for a few moment looking at the foun- 
tain in the moonlight. 

The marble Undine was beautiful with its statuesque 
grace, its serene calm; but the girl, with her passionate, 
living beauty, the moonlight falling on her fair face, 
was more beautiful still. 

For some moments the silence between them was un- 
broken. 

Slowly but surely the calm of the witching hour came 
over Eandolph Clave ring; the odor of the flowers; the 
charm of the night sky; the dark eyes that drooped be- 
neath his gaze; the Avhite hand that trembled on his 
arm; the face that bent over the dimpling water — all 
conspired to shed a glamour over him. 

This reminds me of the lover’s night in the ^Mer- 
chant of Venice,’ ” he said. Nights in Italy are per- 
fect like this — one can. think of nothing but flowers and 
love.” 

Happy nights!” murmured Aurelia, bending her face 
lower over the marble basin, that her companion might 
not see the great wave of crimson that she felt burning 
her cheeks. 

^^Do not look down into the water — look up at me, 
Aurelia,” he Avhispered. Ah! how cruel you have been 
to me — how you have, tortured me to-night! You must 
have known that I came to the ball solely on your 
account, and you would not give me the opportunity of 
saying one word to you — until now.” 

He bent nearer her, and before she could recover from 
her surprise he was kneeling at her feet. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


107 


He took her hand in his, and she made no attempt to 
elude that firm clasp. 

Aurelia/^ he murmured, when a man^s heart is 
quite full, it is very hard to find words. I am afraid,^^ 
he continued, that you will find me abrupt. I am a 
bad wooer; I ought to have prefaced what I have to say 
witli compliments, but I could not. I am too much in 
earnest; and a man in earnest does not think of these 
things. He gets to the point at once. It is not given to 
all men to woo in flowery language, or to be able even to 
express what they feel. I wish,^^ he cried, ^^that I 
knew in what words and in what fashion other men make 
love.^^ 

do not think you are very deficient in eloquence,^^ 
she said, with a smile; but does not your own heart 
teach you?^^ 

Yes,^^ he replied; but I am not sure that the teach- 
ing was of the right kind; you do not encourage me; 
perhaps it is my own fault — that you do not understand 
me because I have not expressed myself clearly. Aure- 
lia, my heart has gone out to you; I want you to be my 
wife; will you marry me?'^ 

And he clasps her in his arms and kisses her. 

She does not answer — emotions as complicated as they 
are intense check her utterance. Even here on this high 
pinacle of bliss the thought of Gerald Komaine, her 
fair-haired lover, flashes over her — striking her heart 
with a cold, despairing chill, like the hand of death — 
stabbing her with remorse for allowing another man even 
the shadow of a caress. 

^^As my wife, you shall have everything your heart 
craves, Aurelia cried Eandolph Clavering, eagerly. 

All my wealth, with my heart and hand, I lay at your 
feet; your every wish shall be gratified. We will visit 
European countries. I will take you wherever your fancy 
wills. You shall have jewels a princess might envy — a 
retinue of servants — equipages that will outdo in splendor 
anything you have ever seen before. For your sake, I 
will make my name powerful. Wealth is powerful; it 
can place me in the Senate, if you so elect. I will be 
anything — everything your heart would wish me to be. 
You — won^t?^^ cries Eandolph Clavering at length, mis- 
taking the cause of her silence, and in a voice in which 


108 


THE BE A UTIFUL COQ UETTE. 


extreme surprise and profound alarm and pain are mixed 
in equal degrees. 

Still no answer. 

He sprung to his feet and looked at her, his face white 
as death. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

ONE MAN OF HONOR. 

Aurelia!^^ he cried, never taking his eyes for one 
moment from that exquisite face, ^Mf I am rough or ab- 
rupt, forgive me! I have but one excuse to offer, and 
that is the intensity* of my love. I am not asking you 
for the happiness of a few years — for the contentment 
of a few months; my whole life is at stake he went 
on, vehemently. I believe ‘that, in my heart, good and 
evil are equally balanced. Given you — your love — hap- 
piness with you — and I honestly believe that, with the 
blessing of Heaven, I shall become not only a great man 
but a good man. I tell you this in all candor — if I lose 
you I shall go to the bad altogether, and I shall not be 
the first man who has gone wrong for a woman^s sake; 
I shall be adrift for life! But you would not do that — 
you would not have encouraged me if you had intended 
to kill me; and if you sent me away from you — if you 
took from me the hope of winning you, you would kill 
the best part of me. I dare not think it; I will not be- 
lieve that you would encourage me, draw me on with 
your smiles and your eyes, as a heartless woman does. 
Ah, no! my fears are running away with me. You can- 
not be that most detestible of all creatures — a coquette.’^ 

Still no answer; Aurelia tried to speak but could not. 

^^If you have been making a fool of me all this time, 
you might, at least, have the civility to tell me so,^’ he 
says, in a voice so sternly cold that remorse, coyness, 
and all other feelings merge into womanish fear. 

She never forgot the look on the dark, handsome 
face, looking into hers — the scorn and defiance, mingled 
with passionate love; that look conquered her — she for- 
got Gerald Romaine — forgot everything, save the intense 
desire to bring back the tender light of love to the face 
before her. 

^^DonT blame me until I deserve it,^^ she murmured. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, lOi) 

with a faint smile; she finishes the sentence on his 
breast, but so low that only her lover hears it. 

Somebody has said that perfect happiness never lasts 
more than two seconds in tliis world; at the end of that 
time his doubts return. He puts her a little way from 
him and looks at her steadily. 

beg you to tell me the truth, Aurelia^’ he cried; 
^^do you like me, or do you not?^^ 

Yes; I like you,^^ she answered in a very low voice. 
^Like^ is such a comprehensive word,^^ he says, with 
a slight, impatient contraction of his straight brows; 
^^you like the old farmer whom you have lived with, you 
like his good wife and the people about you, but such 
liking as that I would fling from me; I must be first or 
nowhere! Am I first 

she replied with a little forced laugh. 

His countenance fell, his face turned a shade paler. 

^‘1 am not?^^ he questioned, in a constrained voice; 
^Mvho is, then, may 1 ask?’^ . 

^^My sister, Margaret,^^ she answered. 

^^DarlingT^ cried Eandolph, looking immensely re- 
lieved, ^Miow you frightened me! I thought there was 
^ another Eichmond in the field. ^ 1 believe you did it on 
purpose to torture me. Well, after her, am I first?’^ 

For a moment it almost seemed to Aurelia that her 
heart stopped beating. Was it the thought of Gerald? 
She could not tell what sudden impulse came over her, 
to pause on this, the brink of fate — what sudden, curi- 
ous foreboding — what voice seemed to cry out to her: 

Stop!^^ but one glance from those dark, impassioned 
eyes caused her to forget all else but the lover present, 
so she answered: 

^^Yes.^^ 

And, standing there listening to those low-breathed 
words of love, Aurelia realized that she loved this hand- 
some, dark-eyed lover with a love such as Gerald Eo- 
maine could never have awakened in her heart. 

Darling!’^ cried Eandolph, passing his arm round 
her half-shrinking, half-yielding form. Can you pos- 
sibly be fond of me? — assure me again that you are. The 
last woman who rested in my encircling arms let me kiss 
her as you are doing; she kissed me back again, as you 
do not do. I looked into her eyes, and they seemed 


110 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

truth itself, and all the while she was lying to me; my 
very touch, every caress must have been hateful to her. 
Tell me that you love me with all your heart. You are 
truth itself, precious, 1 am sure.-’^ 

Shivering, she drew back from his embrace. 

Have you, then, loved some one else?^^ 

She was just about to add too, but checked the word 
just in time on her lips. 

He threw back his dark, handsome head, and 
laughed. 

I will tell you the truth, dear, he said quickly. I 
am a man of the world, my life has not been like the 
stainless leaves of a lily; my faults — my vices were many, 
my virtues few. One does not knock about gay, wicked 
Paris for seven years and come out of the furnace flaw- 
less. I have loved so many women that it would really 
be a bore to look back and enumerate them — or 
rather, I thought I loved them — from a grisette to a 
countess. Hundreds have, in turn, had sway over my 
heart. At last I believed I loved with a love that sur- 
passed all past loves. It was she who made me hate all 
women for her sake, up to the time I mat — you. Let 
me tell you all about her, Aurelia — only a few words. 

If you did not love her still, you would not care to 
talk about her,^^ declared Aurelia, with a sudden touch 
of jealousy. 

‘^My love has turned to abhorrence longsince,^^ he re- 
turned gravely; and I never cease thanking fate for 
turning my path away from hers.^^ 

And as he speaks, he draws Aurelia nearer and lays 
his lips upon her sweet red mouth. 

Let me tell you about it, Aurelia, he persisted. I 
can talk about it and laugh now — the circumstance is 
really amusing. It will show you how much of a fool a 
man can make of himself — for lovers sweet sake. 

‘‘I met the girl I refer to in Paris. She was a gay, 
sparkling, vivacious little stage beauty — just such a one 
as usually attracts a young man^s romantic fancy. She 
soon let mo know that the only way to reach her coy 
heart was to pave the way with glittering diamonds — 
her every smile cost me the ducats, and I was only too 
anxious to purchase her favor at whatever cost — ay, at 
the price of my very soul. 


THE BE A UTIFUL COQ UETTE, 


111 


I had the fondest dreams of making her my wife. 
I would brave the anger of my father, the bitter disap- 
pointment of my mother, I told myself, and, despite 
the opposition of the whole world, marry the woman I 
loved. 

One day my dream came to a sudden end — the rumor 
reached me that my charmer was not to be wooed and 
won — she was already wedded. 

Mad with torture at the very thought of such a pos- 
sibility, I flew to her with the cruel report, and begged 
her on my knees to assure me that the story was false. 

Do not take it so much to heart, Eandolph,^ she 
said, caressing me with her little, white hands. ^ The 
story you have heard is true enough; but does it make 
any difference to you? I hate the man to whom I am 
bound. I— I — like you best.*^ 

^Hushr I cried, springing^from my knees to my feet 
— ^not another word moreT and I flung her hand from my 
arm as though it had been the touch of a scorpion. In 
that instant my wild, passionate love for her turned to 
the flercest loathing. 

^ Eandolph,^ she cried, ^give me one caress to show* 
me that you do not quite hate me — tell me that you love 
me still!" 

^ You are not playing a part on the stage, madam!" 
I cried, with the harshest laugh that ever was heard ; 
^ this is an act from the drama of real life. Stop — do 
not come nearer me. Why, I would as soon think of 
slaying myself, as to offer you — another man"s wife — a 
caress. My ideas of right and wrong are perhaps a lit- 
tle mixed, but I could never make such a mistaKe as 
that. A man who kisses the lips of another man’s wife 
deserves a sword through his heart — he merits the scorn 
of all men and the abhorrence of all women. 

^ I am an American, and in my country all honorable 
men hold other men’s wives sacred and as unapproach- 
able as the stars in heaven. You cannot make a dupe 
of me, madam. Thank fortune I know you as you are. 
You would have been a fine wife in whose hands to 
place a man’s honor! I am thankful that I have escaped 
you!’ 

And without another word I turned on my heel and 
left her — left her wringing her rose-leaf hands and with 


112 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


tears on lier curling golden lashes. I knew she would 
soon find another lover to kiss them away. Bah! I 
would as soon have thought of touching an adder as of 
touching those pouting red lips again. 

I admit to you frankly that this episode embittered 
my life. I came near hating all the race of women be- 
cause of the one I had found false. 

shall live again all my early dreams of love and a 
golden future in my thoughts of you, darling/^ he adds, 
laughingly, yet looking very tender withal into Aurelia’s 
face; and he puts an arm of resolute possession, bolder 
than ever poor Gerald Bomaine^s had been, around her 
slender figure; and glancing up at him, the girl realizes 
that this is no puling milk-and-water tenderness of a 
love-sick, verdant boy, but that it is the strong, passion- 
ate love of a world-worn, world-tainted, half world- 
weary man. 

And after that swift glance her white eyelids droop 
quickly over her dark eyes with a maiden’s shyness under 
the new-known fire of a lover’s gaze, and once again the 
memory of Gerald Eomaine stings her heart. 

Let us go back to the house,” she says, with a shiver, 
attempting to break away from the clasp of the strong 
arm that held her. 

^MVhy are you in such a hurry to leave me, precious?” 
he asks, with eager reproach in his voice. If these mo- 
ments were as sweet to you as they are to me you would 
be in no hurry to end them.” 

We shall be missed from the ballroom,” she falters, 
desperately. 

He laughs gayly, declaring she would do well if she re- 
turned to the ballroom an hour later, and that he was 
very magnanimous in permitting her to return at all. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

ALL POTl A woman’s LOVE. 

It was not until Aurelia was alone in her room that 
night that she looked the matter clearly in the face and 
realized what she had done. 

Was there ever a young girl in the same predica- 


118 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

menfc/^ she asked herself dubiously, engaged to two 
lovers at one and the same time?’'' 

There was no question as to which she liked best, she 
told herself; she never knew what the throb of love 
meant until she looked into the dark eyes of Eandolph 
Clavering and read life’s meaning there. 

There was only one way out of it, and that was to 
write to Gerald and tell him that she had tried very hard 
to be true to him, but that it was a failure, that she had 
found some one else she liked ever so much better, and 
beg him to consider their betrothal off, for she could not 
marry him now. 

may just as well write my letter to Gerald, 
she thought, for there is no such thing as sleep for me 
to-night.” 

Aurelia spent three hours in trying to" compose a letter 
to Gerald Eomaine, and in the end finished by tearing it 
up in annoyance. cannot write it out to him,” she 
cried; anything written sounds so harsh, so abrupt, so 
formal. He is such a foolish fellow hc'-'might commit 
suicide, and then it would all come put that I had been 
engaged to him, and I wouldn’t have that happen for the 
whole world. 

^^No, I must tell him myself, very gradually and gen- 
tly, but not now, oh, not now, for he would come here, 
and — oh — then I should lose Eandolph Clavering’s love, 
and I couldn’t bear that.” 

No, she couldn’t tell Gerald just yet, and she must 
write him, to keep him from coming on to Clavering 
villa; so that night, instead of a letter of dismissal to 
Gerald, she wrote simply the few words: 

Dear Gerald, — I’m thinking of you all the time, 
but be sure not to come here. 

Yours in the greatest haste, 

Aurelia.” 

There,” she murmured, impatiently flinging the let- 
ter from her, that’s the only way I know to avert the 
catastrophe,” and, thinking in a disparaging way of Ger- 
ald and his love, Aurelia undresses and creeps into 
bed. 

The sun is high in the heavens when she awakes the 
next morning. Her first thought is ofEandclph Claver- 


114 THE BEAUTIFUL C0QUE2TE. 

ing; she wondered if he would speak to his father and 
mother to-day about what had happened last night. She 
wondered too, what Miss Erskine would say when she 
came to know about it. 

Aurelia would not have felt very much flattered could 
she have heard the conversation that was taking place 
in the library on this very subject at that moment be- 
tween Eandolph Clavering and his parents. 

Father and son stood facing each other, and the faces 
of both were very red and very angry. They were hav- 
ing a decidedly heated discussion; Mrs. Clavering sat on 
a sofa near the window, her face buried in her lace hand- 
kerchief. 

^^Now mark me, Eandolph,^^ Mr. Clavering was say- 
ing, if you take this step you will rue it all the days of 
your life; you have long since known that it was my 
earnest desire that you should marry Maud Erskine, my 
ward; take care how you dare thwart my wishes.^^ 

With all due regard for your authority, I repeat that 
my mind is made up as to this affair, declared Ean- 
dolph. shall m^rry Aurelia Lancaster. 

You mean it?^^ asks his father steadily. 

Decidedly answers Eandolph, and there is no mis- 
taking the decision in his voice. 

The price of your folly be on your own rash head, 
then,^^ cries the old gentleman furiously. I have said 
that you will rue this step — mark my words!"^ and in his 
wrath, Mr. Clavering makes a terrible threat against his 
son, and strides abruptly from the room, banging the 
door after him."^^ 

Well, mother, asks Eandolph steadily, as he crosses 
the room, and flings himself down with careless aba7i- 
don on the sofa beside her, which side do you propose 
to cleave to — -father’s — or — mine?” 

^^Oh, Eandolph, if you could but be induced to give 
Aurelia up,” she sobbed, raising his wistful, tear-stained 
eyes to her son’s dark, handsome face, and shivering as 
she saw it darken. 

This is the one matter in which I will not allow even 
you to dictate to me, mother,” he said shortly. 

Aurelia is all that is beautiful, that I grant you, 
dear,” she replied, laying her hand on his arm, ^^but 
a simple country girl is no mate for you, Eandolph. Oh, 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


115 


pause and reflect, before it is too late. Why can you not 
love Maud Erskine? Think of the great wealth she will 
come into possession of when she becomes of age; and 
with such wealth 

He interrupted her with an indolent wave of his white 
hand. 

^^That is rather a foolish line of argument, mother,^^ 
he declared. ^^My future wife^s prospects would be the 
last thing I should consider. Why should I? I am not 
marrying for money, but for love. I have wealth enough 
to gratify every desire of my wife.^^ 

Mrs. Clavering turned deadly pale; but Eandolph was 
so intent upon his own thoughts that he did not notice 
it. 

IShe arose quickly, and with a hurried excuse quitted 
the library, her face still deadly pale. 

A little later, Aurelia, going to the library, is startled 
to find Randolph there alone. 

There is none there save themselves to see, and, lover- 
like, Randolph springs forward and clasps her to his 
heart at once, and holds her there, despite her frantic 
struggles to escape that fervent embrace. 

My darling, ^Mie whispers, pretend, at least, that 
you are glad to be here with me, even though in truth 
you are not.-^^ 

But I arn glad, Randolph!^’ she cries, impulsively. 

The clasp of his arms tighten.- There is a pause, a 
little brief pause — such moments are all to sweet for 
words. 

At length Randolph breaks the spell. 

With one hand he raises the dark, sparkling, piquant 
face, and looks down into those fathomless, dark, starry 
eyes. 

My darling,^^ he whispers fondly, I have broken the 
news of our engagement to my mother and father. 

^‘Did you?” she inquires breathlessly. ^^Oh, Ran- 
dolph, what did they say?” and she nestles closer in his 
embrace. 

Oh, nothing out of the way,” he answers, with a 
careless shrug of his broad shoulders. 

^^But werb they pleased, Randolph?” she persisted. 

Father was a little wrathy over it,” he replied. 

You know he had it all cut and dried, so to speak, -that 


116 


THE BEAVTIFUL COQUETTE. 

I should marry the woman of his choosing. He left me 
in a great huff, declaring he would cut me off without a 
dollar. 

^^And will he?’’ asks Aurelia, quickly, looking up 
open-eyed, parted-lipped — her grand^ castles in the air of 
great wealth, magnificent dresses, glittering diamonds, 
horses and carriages, falling earthward with a terrible 
crash. ^^Will he?” she repeats, breathlessly. 

Why do you ask?” said the young man, sharply, 

^^It would be so awful — to be — poor, Eandolph,” she 
says, shivering, and drawing a long breath. 

would never have believed that a mercenary 
thought could enter your brain,” he replied, coldly, and 
his arms slacken their fond hold a little. You need 
not be alarmed — he will not disinherit me, for the very 
excellent reason that he cannot.” 

But in her presence a cloud cannot rest long on his 
handsome face. 

I am going to take you out for a drive after break- 
fast, love,” he says. ^^We must arrange at once for the 
all-important event which is to give you to me. There 
IS no need of waiting; we may as well bp married next 
week as a fortnight later. Let us forego a houseful of 
guests, a trousseau-, and all those auxiliaries so dear, 
usually, to the feminine heart. With your consent, dear, 
we will be married at^nce and go abroad, and then you 
shall have everything your heart craves that wealth can 
procure.” 

^^It is so awfully sudden, Eandolph,” she said. 

Yes; but, as the old adage says, ^ delays are danger- 
ous,’” he replied. have decided,” he went on 

quickly, ^^that no time shall be lost in asking your legal 
guardian. Farmer Eomaine, for you. I intend to take a 
run down there to-morrow. Wish me God speed, my 
darling.” 

A sharp cry fell from her lips, and with a suddenness 
that startled him she sprung from his arms. She dared 
not think what would happen if he went to Eomaine 
Farm to ask her in marriage — to Eomaine Farm where 
Gerald was. Perhaps it would end in a duel. 

In her agitation she went up to him and flung her 
arms tightly about his neck. 

You must ask no one but myself foi^me, Eandolph,” 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


117 


she declared. If you love me as you say you do, you 
will do what I wish.'’^ 

Do not doubt my love, precious,^^ he said tenderly. 

I could not love you any better if I tried. I love you 
with all my heart. Do you hear, Aurelia, darling? I 
love you with all my heart. What is it you wish me to 
do, dear?'^ 

To let the marriage take place without letting any- 
^ne at the farm know anything about it. Let some one 
write and tell them after — we — we — are married and far 
away. 'I'hat would be so romantic. 

She gave him the most bewitching smile any man 
could receive, and as she raised her face to his, she 
looked so beautiful, so imploring that he bent his head 
and kissed her, and after that kiss she was able to per- 
suade him, even against his better judgment, whichever 
way she would. And that was the first link in the 
tragedy of three lives. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

SWEET, FAIR MARGARET. 

Aurelia^s heart beat more tranquilly, now that the 
promise had been given her by Randolph Clavering that 
he would not go to Romaine farm; and, now that this 
difficulty was bridged over, life, which was all rose-tint- 
ed with her, moved on smoothly enough. 

There was one matter which troubled her not a little, 
however, and that was, during the week that followed, 
she received no letter from Gerald Romaine. 

Xot that this fact, of itself, was of much moment to 
her; she cared little enough for them, often scanning 
them over hastily, and tossing them, in shreds, into the 
waste-basket but half read. But, when day after day 
passed, and no word came for her, the terror of expect- 
ing Gerald at the villa at any time almost drove her 
mad. 

She was just about to write to Margaret, to find out 
how matters stood, when a letter from the latter was 
put into her hands. 

Tearing open the envelope, Aurelia found that the 


118 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

white page contained but these few words from her sis- 
ter: 

Come home at once! Gerald is very ill. 

Margaket.^^ 

An angry flush burned in Aurelia’s cheeks. 

^^The id a of sending for me to come home just for 
that! as if I could be of any possible use!” she cried, 
stamping her slippered foot; '^and I shall write and tell 
Margaret so!” 

Aurelia lost no time in writing an emphatic refusal to 
come, but it was not until the next day that her letter 
reached Eomaine farm. 

The house was in such a state of turmoil and excite- 
ment that, even then, it lay all of that day unopened. 

Three days before, directing some of the farm-hands 
in the fields, Gerald had been stricken down in their 
midst by sudden illness. 

He was conveyed at once to the house. 

It must be the heat of the sun that has overcome 
him,” said Mrs. Eomaine, anxiously. I will have him 
taken to the sitting-room — it is nice and cool in there; 
to-morrow he will be himself again.” 

But Margaret, looking at Gerald’s white face, did not 
share the mother’s opinion, even though he soon fell 
into a deep sleep. 

Whenever Margaret went near him, he was muttering 
to himself about Aurelia. His dreams haunted him; he 
imagined that he was with Aurelia again, but always in 
some cruel perplexity. 

Once Margaret went up to the side of the couch and 
looked down at him, thinking how his face had changed. 
It was handsome as ever, but the gay, careless look had 
gone from it; there was a story in it now — there were 
deep lines of passion and tenderness that had never been 
there before. 

Margaret knelt down by the coueh and watched him 
in loving silence. His lips parted; he was murmuring 
in his sleep, and the words ended in a piteous sigh that 
was like a moan. 

My love,” he whispered — ^^oh, Aurelia, say one word 
to me! only one word, my darling!” 

Margaret listened with her face buried in her hands. 


THE BE A UTIFUL COQ UETTE. 


119 


He moved uneasily in his sleep, and she laid her soft, 
cool hand on his brow. It was the same half- caress that 
Aurelia had given him, and, in his fevered sleep, his 
mind went back to her, and he drew the soft, cool little 
white hand to his lips, and kissed it fervently. 

Aurelia, my darling!^^ he murmured faintly. 

She did not draw her hand away angrily, as many 
women would have done; she let it lay in his clasp Avhile 
he kissed it, believing it to be the hand of her whom he 
loved so well. 

A little later Gerald opened his eyes to consciousness, 
and found Margaret kneeling beside his couch. 

Oh, Margaret he cried despairingly. I am afraid 
I am very ill. My head burns, and the blood runs 
through my veins like fire. 

Is there anything I can do for you, Gerald she 
sobbed. 

The blue eyes looked up at her wistfully. 

Yes; send for Aurelia, he whispered. I crave her 
presence so much, ah, so much, Margaret. Will you do 
it?^^ 

Yes,^^ she said gently. ^^I will write the letter at 
once, and she will be with us by to-morrow! Let that 
thought comfort you.’^ 

She could have wept at the great joy that shone in his 
poor face. 

True to her promise, Margaret dispatched her letter at 
once. 

But the next day passed, another, and still another, 
still Aurelia did not come. 

It was pitiful to hear him ask to have the bed moved 
nearer the window, and to be propped up with pillows, 
so that he could see the main road that led over the hills 
to the railway station. 

It did not surprise Margaret on the third day of his ill- 
ness, to find him in a high fever. 

My herb teas and home remedies are useless, Mar- 
garet, sobbed Mrs. Eomaine. ^^I yield to your plead- 
ings; we must send for the doctor.’^ 

When the doctor came and looked into his patients 
face, he started back with a low cry, and hurried Mar- 
garet quickly from the room, commanding her to enter 
the room no more. 


120 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

When lie found liimself alone with Mrs. Eomaine, he 
turned to her gravely. 

You did wrong in not sending for medical attend- 
ance at once/^ he said. Your son has a complication 
of diseases, either of which might prove fatal. He has 
now small- pox in its most aggravated form, and if he 
recovers from that, it will settle into brain fever, the 
symptoms of which are also discernible. Do not let that 
fair young girl, whom I found by the bedside, nurse him, 
now that you know the nature of his disease — send her 
away from the farm.""^ 

Mrs. Eomaine^s bitter sobs brought tears to the eyes of 
the old doctor, used as he was to scenes of sorrow. 

Margaret had gone into the next apartment when the 
doctor had dismissed her so summarily from the room. 
After he had left the house, she stole hurriedly back to 
Mrs. Eomaine, who stood by the bedside like a marble 
statue, looking down into Gerald’s face, and flung her- 
self with clasped hands on her knees before her. 

I have heard all. Aunt Eachel,” she sobbed. Do 
not send me away. In the hour of trouble and danger, 
let me be here with you to comfort you and help bear 
your burden. No one can nurse Gerald as faithfully as 
I will do. I — I — would give my life — yes — my — life — to 
save his.” 

The heart-broken mother clasped the girl to her bosom, 
her tears falling like rain on the beautiful, white, up- 
turned face. 

^^You are an angel, Margaret,” she sobbed. can- 
not accept the sacrifice, dear, at such a terrible risk to 
yourself. You must go quickly, dear; every moment 
you spend in this room is at a deadly risk. For the love 
of Heaven, go, Margaret.” 

I cannot go while Gerald is so ill,” replied the girl 
firmly. I could not endure the torturing fear that he 
might be neglected in any way while you were away 
from his bedside. In mercy let me stay and attend 
him !” 

Mrs. Eomaine could not withstand the girl’s plead- 
ings, and against her better judgment, consented to per- 
mit Margaret to remain and take her place by Gerald’s 
bedside. Even the doctor, when he returned again and 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 121 

found lier there^ was not proof against lier earnest en- 
treaties. 

You area noble young wonian/^ he said admiringly. 
^MVould to Heaven there were more like you. I can 
only liopethat you will not rue this step; you are so fair 
of face it would be a thousand pities to see you under 
the blight of the disease your patient has, and your 
beauty gone — forever. Do you realize your risk, child? 
have you given it serious thought 

She smiled a rare, sweet smile up into his face. I 
leave myself in God^s hands, she said simply, and the 
doctor turned away that she might not see the tears that 
had gathered in his eyes. 

^^The noblest, grandest woman I have ever met,^^ he 
mused as he drove along over the country road, and his 
hard, grim, bachelor heart grew strangely tender. ^^If 
I had known such a woman as that, life might have gone 
differently with me in my early days. I might have had 
home, wife and children. Heigho! how foolish I am to 
allow myself to yearn all at once for these things now;^^ 
and even though he said that, he bowed his head and 
wept at the thought that when his last hour would come, 
it would be the hand of strangers that held a cup of 
water to his lips; no one would shed a tear for him, his 
memory would be kept green in no loving heart, no 
childish hands would plant roses over his grave, the 
money he had hoarded and made a god of would go to 
endow public institutions for the benefit of people who 
had never known him and who cared still less about who 
or what he had been, so long as they reaped the harvest 
of the gold he had toiled so hard and so patiently to ac- 
cumulate. 

Dr. Thorpe looked long and earnestly at his face re- 
flected in the mirror, when he reached his lodgings that 
day.^ 

His hair which had once been so dark and luxuriant, 
was now heavily streaked with silver threads; he noted 
it — and for the flrst time in his life — with bitter regret. 
The dark eyes were faded, and the marks of time, which 
had dealt none too kindly with him, had seamed his face 
with unsightly lines under the eyes and about the mouth. 
He certainly looked every hour of his nine-and-forty 
years. 


122 - THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

It is too late to hope for love now,^’ he sighed* No 
woman would love me, for myself. I must not allow my 
mind to indulge in foolish fancies over what might have 
been, or to think of sweet Margaret Lancaster; she can 
never be anything to me — never! But ah! — Heaven help 
me — how it would please me to know that she might 
think of me, even after I am gone.^^ 

Suddenly a strange idea came to him, and he did not 
put it from him, but mused over it until at last it be- 
came his constant thought, and that thought was: 

^^In the hour that I lie dying, I shall leave all the 
wealth I have accumulated to Margaret Lancaster, and 
the idea grew upon him as the days glided by* 


CHAPTER XXV. 

HER PITIFUL LOVE-STORY. 

Although Hr. Thorpe did all in his power for his pa- 
tient, Gerald Romaine grew steadily worse, and, for a 
time, Margaret almost forgot Aurelia in her fear for 
Gerald. 

As the long days and nights passed, and the danger 
increased, Mrs. Romaine aged terribly. The upright 
figure grew bent and stooping; the gray hair turned 
white; deep furrows came into the pale forehead, her 
whole, sole prayer was for her son^s life. 

Margaret never forgot those days, the breathless sus- 
pense, the fear, the earnestness with which the unhappy 
mother would follow her about from room to room, say- 
ing always the same thing. 

Never mind trying to comfort me, Margaret, pray 
for Gerald, my poor boy.^^ 

There came a day when the doctor said he feared no 
human means could save Gerald Romaine — when the 
white-haired mother fell upon her knees, crying loudly 
to Heaven to spare her son. In this hour of terrible 
trial she besieged Heaven, as it were, for her son^s life, 
— even the angels, who knelt around the Great White 
Throne, must have wept for her, if they heard her, and 
pitied her anguish — even Margaret shrunk from her 
wild words. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


123 


^^Lefc me suffer, my God!^^ she cried, ^^biifc spare my 
only son! Send me torture and death — but let him live! 
I would give my body to be burned — my heart to be 
riven — only spare him; oh, God! only spare liimT^ 

At this crisis in JGerald^s condition, Margaret came 
across Aurelia^s letter, which until now had remained 
unopened — forgotten. 

With a troubled face she read it through, marveling 
much at Aurelia^s refusal to come to Gerald, even with 
the knowledge that he was ill unto death. 

Suddenly an inspiration came to her. If she could go 
to Deephurst — to Olavering Villa, perhaps she could per- 
suade Aurelia to return with her at once — and Aurelia’s 
presence might save Gerald’s life. For, even now in the 
height of his delirium, he still watched the door with an 
intentness and pitiful expectancy that only she under- 
stood. 

That morning she announced her intention of going 
to Deephurst for a day to see Aurelia. 

You should stay away a fortnight,” said Dr. Thorpe, 
laying his hand kindly on the girl’s fair head; you are 
breaking yourself down completely, my child. You will 
be the next patient I’ll have on my hands if you are not 
careful. Yes, go, by all means.” 

But before Margaret started Dr. Thorpe took the pre- 
caution of ascertaining that there was no taint of the 
fatal disease about her to spread contagion elsewhere. 

It was dusk when Margaret reached Deephurst. It 
was three miles to Olavering Villa, and as her purse was 
light, she concluded to walk the distance. 

By inquiry she soon found out in which direction the 
Olavering estate lay, and set out for her destination 
with a hopeful heart as to the result she had to accom- 
plish. 

When she came in sight of the place, she looked in 
wonder at the magnificence that greeted her eye at every 
turn — the towering stone structure, with its gables and 
turrets, in the center of the grounds, peeping out 
through the trees that half screened it from the main 
road. The white marble statuettes gleamed in the bright 
moonlight, and the tinkling of the fountain mingled 
with the drowsy chirping of the crickets, made pleasant 
music on the still night air. 


124 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


Some one had left the ponderous gate ajar. Margaret 
pushed it open and entered the grounds. 

There were three gravel walks before her; she could 
not see, on account of the trees, which one of them led 
to the house. She struck into the one toward the left, 
hurrying rapidly onward. 

Margaret did not see the tall young man standing in 
the shadow of the trees, near one of the fountains, who 
was so near her when she passed that he could have put 
out his hand and touched her. 

Now who is this young girl?^^ Eandolph Clavering 
asked himself in wonder; and why does she steal into 
the grounds at this hour? I must warn her against tak- 
ing the left walk; for, a little further on they are dig- 
ging the pit for the seal pond; she will be into it before 
she knows it; then there would be a broken limb or a 
broken back. I must tell her to take the center walk to 
go to the house. 

And away Eandolph Clavering hurried after her, not 
calling to her lest he should frighten her, and thinking 
he could easily overtake her ere she reached the danger- 
ous locality. 

As Margaret turned an abrupt curve in the path, she 
suddenly stopped short, with a glad cry — directly before 
her, coming leisurely down the path, was Aurelia. In 
an instant she was beside Aurelia, and her arms were 
about her, and she was kissing the beautiful face. 

Gracious goodness! where in the world did you come 
from, Margy cried Aurelia, as soon as she could catch 
her breath and disentangle herself from the arms that 
held her. I was just thinking of you, and I actually 
believe you sprung suddenly out of the ground to con- 
front me — as the witches do.^^ 

Margaret smiled faintly. 

^^But what in the world brings you here ?^^ Aurelia 
went on. And what a fright you look in that brown- 
stuff gown, and coarse shoes, and plain bonnet — just 
like a country dowdy! You came here like that just on 
purpose to disgrace me before these fine people, because 
you thought I was having a good time — you know you 
did.^^ 

And two very angry tears brimmed over from 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 19.^ 

Aiirelia^s flashing eyes, and rolled down her flushed 
cheeks. 

I had no such purpose in view, dear,^^ answered 
Margaret, deeply distressed. I wonder that you can 
think so ill of me — I was in such a hurry to come to you 
that I never once thought of my dress and how plain J 
sliould appear. 

^^But what did you come here for, any way persisted 
Aurelia. 

To tell you about Gerald, dear,^^ sobbed Margaret, 

^MVell, don’t make a scene,” returned Aurelia, sharp- 
ly. ^^Here, come into the arbor where no one can see 
us or hear us talk.” 

And grasping Margaret’s arm, she hurried her along 
the path until the arbor wrs reached. 

It was intensely dark within it, save for the bean 
moonlight that drifted in through the broad leaves, 
lay in grotesque white patches on the paved floor. 

Now, what is it about Gerald Komaine?” she 
claimed, angrily, as she pushed Margaret into a r 
seat, and flung herself beside her. doubt he : . 

you here to worry me into writing twenty letters a day 
to him — or perhaps he had the silly notion that you could 
coax me back to the farm because he had a headache; 
and I should think that he really would have, tinkering 
with those senseless patents of his. I ” 

Margaret listened in shocked surprise. 

My darling,” she broke in, tearfully, do not talk 
like that, you pain me, indeed you do. Gerald is very, 
very ill. Oh, listen, Aurelia — so ill that his life is de- 
spaired of. Every means to save him has been ex- 
hausted, he is rapidly sinking. But one hope is left — if 
you come to him, you might arouse him from the 
stupor into which he has fallen — you alone could do it — 
if that failed, then he is indeed lost to us forever. Oh, 
Aurelia — forever!” 

‘‘ Don’t ask me to go, Margy,” cried Aurelia, shudder- 
ing, ^^you know how I abhor sick-rooms; I couldn’t do 
anything for Gerald if I were there.” 

Yes, you could,” sobbed Margaret. You could go 
up to him, and kneel down beside his bed, clasp his 
hands and say to him, am here, Gerald, I — Aurelia, 
3^our promised wife, whom you love so well;’ say that 


126 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

and I am sure he will hear and recognize you — his love 
for you is so great. Oh, Aurelia, you would not hesitate 
to come if you could hear how he calls for you, morning, 
noon, and all through the long night. It makes my 
heart bleed to hear him. I repeat— you are his promised 
■wife — your place is by his side in this dreadful ordeal. 
I wonder that I have to remind you of your duty — to 
come to him, and comfort, and nurse him.^^ 

^^It is a wonder that you do not comfort him, Margy/" 
sneered Aurelia. 

The gasping breath that Margaret drew was plainly 
audible all through the rose-arbor. For a moment she 
was silent — at length, in a husky voice, she answered 
slowly: 

Would to Heaven I could comfort him, Aurelia. If 
my life could be given to save Gerald^s, only God and 
b' angels know how quickly, and gladly, I would give 
■t.^" 

•^It^s a pity such great devotion as yours should not 
•lave won Gerald Eomaine^s love,^^ retorted Aurelia con- 
temptuously. ^^ril give him to you in welcome, Margy; 
1 see you love him.^^ 

^^I beg that you will not jest upon such a matter, 
Aurelia, replied Margaret, her sweet, earnest voice 
quivering with pain. 

See,^^ she cried, flinging herself before her scornful 
sister, I beg of you on my knees to come to Gerald, to 
save his life; for my sake come. Kneeling here I will 
tell you of the bitter sorrow that has darkened my life — 
and you caused it; but I will bless you even as I have 
forgiven you all, long ago, if you will but come and save 
Gerald^s life by your presence. 

Before Gerald saw you — that is, before your return 
from boarding-school — Gerald Komaine was my love; I 
was to have been his wife, Aurelia, and the day was set 
for the wedding. 

Oh, Aurelia, let me tell you in a few words. Let me 
d r 11 for a few brief moments on that one gleam of sun- 
dii. e in my life. Let me tell you how happy I was; 

sweet were my hopes of a happy home all my own, 
» h Gerald there to love me. I believed in his love, in 
• loyalty and faith, as I did in Heaven itself. I — I — 

id have knelt at his feet and blindly worshiped him. 


THE BE A UTIFUL COQ UETTE. 


137 


My only fault was, that I loved Gerald too well. I some- 
times think that is why Heaven took him from me, for 
in the great book it is written: ^ Thou shalt have no 
other God but me.'' 

‘^Now listen, mark well, Aurelia, the sequel to my 
pitiful love story. 

My life might have been happy enough,^^ continued 
Margaret, if you had not crossed GerahTs path, Aurelia, 
for, from the first moment he looked upon your face, 
he loved you with a love that was his doom — and mine. 

How can I tell you what happened after — tell you 
how he knelt at my feet one day and asked me for his 
freedom, that he might marry you, whom he had learned 
to love, he said, as he had never loved me, and never 
could love me? 

All in a moment, my idol, like my beautiful dreams, 
lay in ruins around me. My heart seemed to break then 
and there with one great, awful throb. I wished that I 
could fall down dead before him, but death would not 
come to me. 

Only Heaven and the witnessing angels know the 
bitterness of the moment in which I turned to him and 
said: 

^God pity me! — I set you free, Gerald, if it must be 
so V 

I lived through it somehow, forced as I was to wit- 
ness from day to day his fond devotion to you. I lived 
and suffered in silence. 

Oh, Aurelia, how I would have thanked Heaven for 
the smallest portion of the love Gerald Eomaine has 
lavished upon you. 

How he lies dying, and I am here pleading with you 
who has come between his love and me, to come to him 
and save the life that I would be willing to give every 
drop of my heart’s blood to prolong. See, Aurelia, I am 
pleading to you — Gerald’s betrothed wife — on my knees, 
to come to him!” 

Aurelia had listened to Margaret’s story with open- 
eyed amazement; but instead of feeling sorry for the 
fair-haired sister kneeling in such bitter sorrow before 
her, a thrill of something very like triumph shot through 
her heart, that she could with a single smile, win the 
love which Margaret would gladly pay her life for. 


128 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


You have not told me what is the matter with Ger- 
ald, Margy,^^ she said impatiently. 

‘^It is that most heart-rending of ail diseases — small- 
pox !"’ 

A shriek of horror broke from Aurelia^s lips. 

Are you madT^ she cried, as soon as she could catch 
her breath. ‘^You must be to ask me to go near Gerald 
Eomaine with that horrid disease! Why, I wouldn’t go 
within a mile of the house for the whole world — not 1! 
You don’t seem to consider, Margy, that if I should go 
to him and catch it, I should be marked for life — my 
beauty would be ruined.” 

What' is beauty when weighed in the balance with a 
human life!” cried Margaret. ‘‘Go to him, and by the 
power of the love he has for you, I feel sure your pres- 
ence will save him!” 

“Then he will die for the want of it,” declared Aure- 
lia; “for, coax as hard as you may, I refuse to go. The 
loss of your good looks may be nothing to you, but to 
7ne such a catastrophe would mean death in life ! We 
only reign in the hearts of men while our beauty lasts. 
Best assured I shall not rush headlong to ruin mine! 
And moreover,” cried Aurelia, wrathfully, “I never want 
to see Gerald Eomaine again — living or dead! Take that 
message back to him from me! Here, hand him back 
this ring. That was our engagement- ring, and tell him 
I am done with him forever — that 1 am tired of the bonds 
that fettered me to him, and I throw them off! Break 
it to him as you like, Margaret; then, perhaps you will 
have the satisfaction of seeing the lover whom you 
still adore turn to you for consolation and sympathy. 
Tell him,” Aurelia went on, with an eldritch laugh that 
resounded weirdly through the rose-arbor, “ that I have 
found another lover richer and handsomer. A man who 
has not his wealth to earn by his hands or his brains, 
but who has it already, and who can get everything for 
me that my heart craves. Tell him I shall be a grand 
lady, and ” 

“ I can hear no morg,” cried Margaret; “ I will not 
believe that all you say is true.” 

“ You will find that it is all true enough very soon 
now. I did not mean to let Gerald or any of the4*est of you 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 129 

know about it until I was married and away, but you 
have forced the truth from my lips/^ 


CHAPTER XXVI.. 

GERALD ROMAIKE^S PROMISED WIFE IS FTOTHIFTG TO 

me/^ 

Then" you refuse absolutely to come to Gearld?^^ 
asked Margaret, slowly. 

Don\you understand plain English when you hear, 
it?’" retorted Aurelia, furiously. said I wouldn’t 

go under any consideration — under — any — consid-er-a- 
tion.” 

Then my mission here is useless. I will urge you 
no more,” replied Margaret, turning sadly away from her 
sister. 

^^Are you going back to-night?” asked Aurelia, quick- 

Yes,” said Margaret; am needed there.” 

Aurelia breathed freer. She was very glad that none 
of the Olaverings would see Margaret or even know of 
her visit. 

For the first time in her life gentle Margaret Lan- 
caster parted in bitter anger from her beautiful sister. 

Aurelia watched the slim figure flit down the moonlit 
path and through the ponderous gate — watched her un- 
til the distance and the shadows took her in their em- 
brace, and she was lost to sight. Aurelia never dreamed 
in that hour under what circumstances she was destined 
to meet Margaret again. 

^^It was as well to tell her the whole truth about my 
intention of giving Gerald up, first as last,” she mur- 
mured. And Margaret can break it to him more* gen- 
tly than I could on paper. 

Oh, but I had almost forgotten what brought me 
out here in the moonlight. Randolph said that he would 
be out in the grounds and wanted to talk to me.” 

She knew where to look for him, and throwing off all 
thought of the disagreeable scene through which she 
had just passed, Aurelia hurried to the other part of the 
grounds, where she expected to find him pacing up and 


130 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

down impatiently enough, smoking his cigar under the 
trees, but he was not there. 

She sits down on a bench in the moonlight and waits 
a little. Suddenly she hears a man^s quick, firm tread 
on the graveled walk, and hurries forward to meet him, 
stopping for an instant to break off a white rose-bud 
from one of the tall bushes. 

Isn’t it lovely, Eandolph?’^ she cries, holding it out 
to him as he approached — ‘^it is for you. 

Not speaking, he takes the little hand — flower and all 
— and looks into her face; and then, as if yielding to a 
temptation that he hates, that he would fain resist, but 
which masters him, strong as he is, he snatches her to 
his breast and kisses her fiercely — eyelids, lips and neck 
— with a violence that he is himself scarcely conscious of. 

Eandolph,” she cries, ‘'you are actually crushing 
me. Don’t be so vehement.^"' 

He recollected himself instantly and released her. 

“ It is alarming, being kissed — especially when you are 
not used to it,” he answers, with a sneer that cuts 
through Aurelia’s heart like a knife. 

She raised her head from his breast, and looked up at 
him quickly. Was it the moonlight that gave his face 
such a white, wrathful look? How fiercely — yes, fiercely 
— the dark eyes met and held her own. 

“ What is the matter, Eandolph?” she asked quickly. 
“Something has happened — what is it, dear?” 

“ It does not amount to much, I fancy,” he replied, 
with a little bitter laugh. “It is only that I have heard 
a startling bit of news.” 

“ What is it?” she inquired quickly, all her curiosity 
aroused at once. 

“Only that an acquaintance of mine is engaged to be 
married.” 

“Is it any one I know?” asked Aurelia, greatly inter- 
ested. 

“ I imagine you know her a trifle better than most 
people do,” he replied, cynically, twisting the curling 
ends of his dark mustache impatiently with his white 
fingers, a habit he had when deeply agitated. 

“ Who is it?” persisted Aurelia. “ Not Miss Erskine, 
surely.” 

“ No! yourself/’ he responded, sharply. 


THE beautiful COQUETTE. iBl 

She sprung back from him with a gay little laugh. 

Of course I am to be married, am I not?— and to you, 
Eandolph/’ she said, coyly. Our engagement is no 
news.^^ 

He reaches forward and grasps her white arm. 

I want you to answer me this — I want it from your 
own lips, that I may be sure that the story I have heard 
did not deceive my ears — what was Gerald Eomaine, the 
farmer^sson, to you? I want the truth. 

The blow had fallen upon her so suddenly, so sharply, 
and without an instant^s Avarning, that it fairly staggered 
her — fairly took her breath away, rendering her speech- 
less. 

repeat,^^ said Eandolph Clavering, sternly, ^^was 
Gerald Eomaine, the farmer^s son, ever anything to 
you 

I was once betrothed to him,^^ she faltered, under 
her breath. 

How long ago — was it broken off ?^^ he asks sternly. 

^^It was never broken off, but I — I was intending to 
write to him this very night, and tell him it could never 
be now,’^ she answers, in a frightened whisper, adding, 
incoherently: how did — vou — know about it — Ean- 

dolph ?^’ 

We will get to that presently, he said, harshly; and 
as he spoke his face gathered blackness. ^^Let me un- 
derstand this clearly before I answer you,^^ he cried. 

Were you betrothed to this young Eomaine at the time 
you accepted me?^^ 

She Avas too completely startled to deny it, and she 
ansAvered: 

^^Yes.^^ 

You were good enough to overlook such a trifling 
obstacle — that you Avere another's — when you permitted 
me to pour into your Avilling ear my love for you, Avere 
you not?^^ 

I never thought of him in that hour,^^ she faltered, 
and her guilty head sunk down on her breast, as a 
floAver^s head sinks, tortured by a strong Avind. 

But she suddenly lifts her face, and he sees tears in the 
lovely eyes; but the sight of her tears do not soften his 
rage. 

His straight brows are drawn together in one dark line 


132 TBE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

across liis face, and his lips look white and thin under 
his mustache. 

I believe every false woman has a penchant for cross- 
ing my path!^^ he cried grimly. ^^AVithyour treachery, 
I forswear all faith in the race,^^ and having said this, he 
turned to leave her. 

‘^Eandolph,^^she whispered, do you mean that — that 
— we are to part? You could not mean that? Ah, 


Your intuition serves you well,^^ he replied grimly. 
Certainly we are to part. Gerald Komaine^s promised 
bride — is nothing to me!^^ 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

WAS OKLY A PLIRTATIOK." 

For a moment there was deep silence. Randolph 
Clavering looked at Aurelia out of the corners of his 
eyes. 

She had hidden her face in her hands, but by the pant- 
ing breast and heaving shoulders, so plainly discernible 
through their covering of soft white mull, he .saw that 
she was weeping, that a storm of sobs was shaking her 
slender frame. 

^^Let me tell you all about it, Randolph,^^ she fal- 
tered. 

Thanks, I understand the affair perfectly, ^Mie de- 
clared, in an icy voice, his eyes flashing with a hard, 
metallic glitter. You thought a rich man a better in- 
vestment than a poor one. You threw the other fellow 
over for me. If another man crossed your path to-mor- 
row richer than myself, he would be the winner and I 
the loser, if he were to sue for your hand. From a 
woman who could throw a man over with the cold- 
blooded heartlessness you have done, I thank Heaven for 
escaping. I should like to ask one question, he went 
on icily; seeing that you did not break with your other 
lover yet, according to your story, did you intend to 
marry both of us?” 

Aurelia could not stand this cruel flaunt. 

Do you think it manly to stand there and — and — in- 


TBE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

suit me because I have been fool enough to give up a 
man who loved me as you could never have loved me — 
for yoiif^ 

Eandolph Clavering stands motionless in the moon- 
light, and looks at her; a spasm passes over his features, 
contracting and puckering them; his hands clinch them- 
selves in the mightiness of his effort to control his bitter 
anger. 

^‘That is easily remedied, he answered haughtily. 

Why should you not go back to Gerald Eomaine, the 
farmer’s son, as you left him — his betrothed wife. There 
is no reason why he should ever hear of this e^pisode, this 
interlude, this farceP^ 

But I— I don’t love him as I love you, Eandolph,” 
she pants, sobbing as though her heart would break. 
^^Oh, why won’t you believe me?” 

He laughed harshly. 

A thing must be probable, or at least possible, be- 
fore I can give credence to it,” he answered. A faith 
once broken can never be mended. A woman who has 
deceived a man once for one object, may deceive him a 
second. time for another. If I were to marry you now,” 
he went on, his words coming quicker, and his emotion 
deepening as he proceeded, although I love you madly, 
I should always disbelieve in you. I should be on the 
lookout for treachery from you. I should never press 
your heart to mine without fearing that it was beating 
for some one else.” 

The acknowledgment that he still loved her madly, 
brought hope surging back to Aurelia’s breast. 

If you cared for me, you would not want me to go 
back to Gerald Eomaine,” she sobbed. You could not 
contemplate so nonchalantly seeing me in another man’s 
possession.” 

What right have I to covet the betrothed wife of an- 
other?” he cried sternly. ^^I have no right to steal 
Gerald Eomaine’s promised bride any more than I could 
steal without compunction of conscience his horse or 
his money. You have ruined my life in coming here 
and teaching me to love you, but I am man enough 
to live through it. I leave the villa to-night. Good- 
bye.” 

And he turns his head sharply, and only the stars see 


134 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

the distortion of the anguish of parting from her that is 
working on his face. 

Are we going to part like this, Eandolph, after all 
that has passed she falters in a tremulous voice that 
might tempt an anchorite, unman a hero. Oh, Kan- 
dolph, say that you forgive me for not telling you all on 
that — that night that we stood by the fountain and you 
asked me — to — to marry — you.’^ 

AYhy should I say that which is not true?’^ he asked, 
turning bitterly toward her. I don^t forgive you, and 
never shall, either in this world or the next. Good- 
bye!” 

He felt the strain was too great for him, if this leave- 
taking were to last much longer; being but human, he 
would break down under it. By a superhuman effort he 
has refrained from catching her in his arms and crying 
out to her: 

^^My love is so strong I cannot give you up, darling. 
If there were ten thousand Gerald Komaines between us, 
and ten thousand treacheries, I must be yours, and you 
must be mine!” 

But his strong will battles down this yearning for 
her. 

He is not sure of himself another instant in her pres- 
ence; and, without another glance at the face dearer to 
him than all the world beside, he turns on his heel and 
walks rapidly away — not toward the house, but toward 
the entrance-gate that opens out on the main road, and 
is soon lost to sight among the trees. 

Aurelia never knew how long she sat there in the cold, 
white moonlight. 

All that had just passed seemed to her like a confused 
dream, from which she must awake presently; she could 
not realize that all was over between Randolph Claver- 
ing and herself — that the wealth she had been so near 
winning had floated like a bubble out of her reach; she 
could not grasp the thought that she had indeed lost the 
golden prize — the haughty, dark-eyed, handsome, ador- 
ing lover whom other women coveted with such bitter 
envy. 

Oh, no, no, no! it could not be real that she had lost 
him. 

Sitting there, she thought of the lines she had heard 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


135 


Miss Erskine reading aloud to Randolph only that morn- 
ing, and interlarding each line with sentimental sighs as 
she went along. 

The words came back to Aurelia with a strange, cold 
thrill now. 

Where two roads part we sadly stray, 

Here turn we each our lonely way — 

The paths marked out for us by Fate. 

In vain to longer idly wait, 

Or hope for further sweet delay. 

I see with sorrow and dismay 
That your path stretches far away 
From mine — that now we separate 
Where two roads part. 

‘‘ With aching heart 1 humbly pray 
That once again our life paths may, 

Through mazes strange and intricate. 

Each other cross ere ‘tis too late. 

And Fate be kinder than to-day — 

Where two roads part,” 

Did her path stretch away from Kandolph Claver- 
ing^s? 

She could not — would not, believe it. 

Then Aurelia fell to idly wondering who had told 
Eandolph about Gerald Komaine, and how the calamity 
had happened. 

One by one she saw the lights go out in the upper 
windows of the villa; that recalled her scattered senses. 

It was late — she must go into the house, she told her- 
self. 

Now she crept wearily up the broad path she had so 
lately danced over. 

She looked at the magnificent granite mansion, bathed 
in the glory of the white moonlight; at the parks that 
surrounded it, stretching away as far as the eye could 
reach on all sides, and she sobbed aloud at the thought 
of losing it all. 

How could she leave all this grandeur and return to 
the farm and marry Gerald Eomaine? she asked herself, 
wringing her hands hysterically. She couldnT — she 
couldnT, she declared wildly, below her breath; it would 
be death in life. She had too keen an appreciation of 
luxury to throw herself away on a poor man. It would 
break her heart. 


136 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

Aurelia crept up to her room that night with the most 
miserable heart that ever beat in a girhs bosom. 

She knew Eandolph Clavering too well to hope that 
he might change his mind. That night, for the first 
time in her bright, gay, rose-leaf life, Aurelia Lancaster 
knew what it meant to weep herself to sleep. 

It was late the next morning when she awoke; she 
hardly knew her own face when she looked at it in the 
mirror. There was no color in the dimpled cheeks, or 
the daintily curved lips — and there were great dark 
circles under the dark, silken lashes. 

Dressing herself with cold, trembling hands, Aurelia 
descended aLlength to the breakfast-room. Mrs. Olaver- 
ing and her husband were lingering late over their 
chocolate. Aurelia’s heart sunk when she saw them still 
at the table — she had hoped to escape them. 

It looked suspiciously as though they had waited pur- 
posely to see her, she thought, and she wondered if 
Eandolph had told them anything about what had hap- 
pened the night before. She was soon to know. 

Both glanced up at her furtively as she took her seat, 
and they exchanged morning greetings, in their usual 
fashion. 

You were not up in time, my dear, to see Eandolph 
off,” said Mrs. Clavering, sweetly. He requested me 
to say ^good-bye,’ to you for him.” 

^^He — has — really — gone — then?” faltered the girl, 
slowly — chokingly. 

He left at seven this morning,” replied Mrs. Claver- 
ing. My dear” — she went on in a low voice — he told 
me, too, that all was over between you and him — I am 
sorry. My husband was sorry too,” she added, taking a 
swift glance at her husband, as though mutely appeal- 
ing to him to corroborate the statement, and taking 
the cue from her, Mr. Clavering murmured a few polite, 
inarticulate words which Aurelia did not quite catch. 

There could not have been a more trying situation for 
the girl; but she was equal to the occasion; she crushed 
back the burning tears from her eyes, and summoned 
up all her pride — forcing a smile to her lips. 

What you are pleased to term an engagement be- 
tween Eandolph and myself, I have only considered 
nothing more nor less than a flirtation,” she declared. 


THE BEAVTIFUL COQUETTE, m 

laughing with all the gay, happy abandon of a merry 
schoolgirl. Eandolph insisted that you would imagine 
us really lovers, but I knew you would never make such 
a ridiculous mistake.'^ 

Both Mr. and Mrs. Clavering looked at Aurelia in 
amazement. 

They both knew how much in earnest their son had 
been in his intention of braving their anger by marrying 
this girl. Could it be possible that now, after all — she 
would not have him? Was this the secret of this sudden 
leave-taking? 

This condition of affairs was rather a blow to their 
pride — still, no matter how it came about, they were 
delighted at the issue — he was free. And the hope 
beat high in their breasts that his heart might, in the 
rebound, turn to the object of their selection — Maud 
Erskine, 


CHAPTEE XXVIII. 

BACK FROM THE PORTALS OF THE TOMB. 

Uhder the existing circumstances, Aurelia knew that 
it would be best to draw her visit to a close without de- 
lay; and before she left the breakfast- table she ac- 
quainted Mr. and Mrs. Clavering of her intended de- 
parture. 

There were the usual polite regrets; then Mrs. Claver- 
ing inquired when they we?’e to lose her, and Aurelia re- 
plied that she must start for home the following morn- 
ing. 

Of course they expostulated; but Aurelia knew that 
deep down in their hearts they would not be very ill- 
pleased when she went. 

The hardest task of all for Aurelia was to meet Maud 
Erskine that day. 

The moment she met the glance of Maudes green-blue, 
triumphant eyes, she realized that she knew all. 

Even she was puzzled at the bright face Aurelia as- 
sumed. 

It is only some lovers^ quarrel that they have had 
that has sent Eandolph off in a rage,^^ she thought. He 
will soon return, and, finding her gone back to her home. 


1% THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

he will follow her there, and they will make up and 
marry 

It was not until Aurelia was on the train, and it had 
moved out of sight of those who had come down to the 
depot with her to see her safely started on her journey, 
that she gave way to her despair. 

Every mile they traversed brought her nearer the 
hated farm and the old life. 

So great was her abhorrence of it that she felt like 
flinging herself bodily from the train. 

She was in doubt, too, as to how she would be received 
if Margaret had delivered her message to Gerald. 
Where should she go, then — which way should she 
turn? 

As they were not expecting Aurelia, there was no one 
at the station to meet her. 

The son of a neighboring farmer took her to her desti- 
nation. 

It was dusk when she reached the farm. Already the 
lamp had been lighted, and shone with a ruddy glow 
athwart the path that led to the front door. 

The curtains of Gerald’s apartment had been closely 
drawn; but she could see the shadows of dark forms flit- 
ting to and fro across the room. 

Was he worse?” she wondered. 

Feeling very much like an intruder, Aurelia turned 
the knob of the door and entered softly. 

Some one was seated by the window — her face resting 
on the sill — her form shaking with suppressed sobs. At 
the first glance Aurelia knew who she was, and called to 
her, softly: 

Margaret ! Margaret !” 

The girl lifted her head with a quick start, and saw 
her standing there; in a moment she was beside her — 
her arms flung tightly about her neck — the tear- swollen 
cheek pressed close to her own. 

OH, Aurelia,” she sobbed, I knew you would come! 
I believed it from the very bottom of my soul. He is 
worse; I did not give him your message; I could not, 
and he so ill, and calling for you with every fluttering, 
feeble breath. But now,” she added, hopefully, he 
will be saved; you will draw him back from the very 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 139 

borders of tlie other world. Come to him quickly, dear 
— every moment is precious.’^ 

^MVho is with Gerald now?^’ asked Aurelia, drawing 
back as they reached the door — ^^his mother 

Margaret shook her head. 

No, she is in her own room,^^ she answered. I 
begged her to lie down and rest a -little, but she would 
not; so, out of sheer pity, the good old doctor admin- 
istered a sleeping potion to lier in her tea. She sleeps 
the sleep of exhaustion. The doctor left some little time 
since, promising to be with us again shortly, but — he — 
he — told me that his presence would be unavailing — for 
nothing more, within human power, could be done for 
Gerald. 

^^Oh, Aurelia, I could- not endure it — sitting by his 
bedside and hearing him call on you to come to him^ — 
without Aveeping, and — and I went from his bedside that 
he might not see my tears. 

Margaret pushed open the door softly, and the two 
girls stood on the threshold. 

Enter — alone — it is best so,^^ whispered Margaret, 
adding: ^^Call me when you want me.^^ 

Aurelia heard the door close softly after her, and 
knew she was standing alone, in the presence of the man 
she would have so wantonly destroyed if fate had not 
taken the power from her. 

She advanced toward the couch timidly, and with 
trembling hands drew aside the heavy curtains from it, 
and the light from the shaded night-lamp fell with a 
softened glow on the white face on the pillow. 

^^Aurelia,^^ murmured the sufferer, wearily, as he 
moved his arms restlessly about, ^^are you never commg, 
dear? Oh, love, if you knew how patiently I have waited 
for you.^^ 

Aurelia took off her hat and sack, and drew her chair 
close up to the bedside and sat down. 

Oh, how changed lie was — handsome still, but sadly 
changed; and, even sitting there, holding his hands 
clasped in hers, no impulse stirred in her heart to bend 
over him and kiss the lips that called on her name so 
earnestly. 

Of course she hoped he would recover — but with the 
thought came another — that in that case she would in all 


140 


THE BE A UTIFUL COQ UETTE. 


probability have to marry him, and a heavy sigh broke 
from her lips. 

The sigh awoke him; he opened his eyes with a start, 
murmuring her name. 

am here, Gerald,^’ she murmured, faintly. 

He held out his arms to her, with a passionate cry: 

^^Aurelia — thank God, you have come to me — at last. 

Gerald raised his dim eyes to the lovely face of the girl 
he worshiped so madly, and tears filled them; a low 
moan broke from his lips. 

He held her hands clasped tiglitly, looking at her with 
an expression — wistful and appealing — that she never 
forgot. 

am dying, dear,^^ he whispered, huskily, ^^but my 
soul would not leave its mortal tenement until you came 
to me — so great is the love I bear you. Bend your sweet 
face nearer, precious, that I may see you; I can die con- 
tent now that you are with me. 

Oh, Aurelia, how I wish that I could take you across 
the dark river of death with me. It almost seems that 
I cannot die and leave you here.-^^ 

Even at the portals of the tomb the ruling passion of 
his life held its own. 

Oh, Aurelia,^'’ he murmured, ^^you will never realize 
how dearly I have loved you — loved you with all my 
heart and soul — idolized you. The words 1 use to ex- 
press it seem cold. Ah! how I wish they could burn 
their way to your very soul!^^ 

The very vehemence of his passionate, worshipful 
adoration startled her — a very flame of love seemed to 
glow in his face. 

He looked at the beautiful little hands, white as lily 
leaves, which he held. 

Oh, little hands that hold my heartT^ he sighed. 

Do you remember how I kissed these hands, Aurelia, 
on the day you promised to be my wife? kissed them 
with rny whole soul in each burning kiss, knowing they 
were mine — all mine.’^ 

"A guilty shiver shot through her heart; she made an 
effort to draw her hands from his grasp, but he held 
them the tighter. She tried to speak — to stem the tor- 


THE BEAUTIFtJL COQUETTE. 141 

well have tried to beat back the waves of the mighty 
ocean. 

Oh, my love/’ he sighed, ^Histentome: Some men 
have many loves; I love but you. Some men have 
worshiped many fair faces; I never knew what real love 
meant until I looked into yours, and worshiped you. 
In you were centered all my hopes, my ambitions, and 
dreams of a brilliant future!” 

The pathos that trembled in his voice and shone in 
his eyes could not help but touch her, false and fickle 
though she was. 

Alas! that such a wealth of love should have been 
lavished upon her all in vain. 

Oh, Aurelia/’ he went on, ^Mvill you think of me 
when I am gone? Will you come to my grave, and, as 
you kneel there, remember the words I am saying to 
you now? The heart that beats with a love surpassing 
all others will lie cold and still; but you will remember, 
my darling, that in life it beat only for you, my own 
true love — my love who was so soon to have been mv 
wife.” 

Don’t, Gerald, don’t!” she sobbed, ‘^1 cannot bear 
it!” 

Every word he uttered was like the sharp blade of a 
dagger in her heart. 

The words on her lips were arrested just then by the 
entrance of the doctor, Mrs. Eomaine, and Margaret. 

Dr. Thrope’s surprise and fear were great at seeing a 
young and beautiful girl sitting by Gerald Eomaine’s 
bedside. He hurried forward in the greatest of alarm, 
but Margaret laid a detaining hand on his arm. 

She is my sister, and Gerald’s betrothed bride; she 
knows all about the disease, and does not fear it. Her 
place is at his bedside,” she said. 

Hearing this the doctor offered no remonstrance to 
Aurelia’s presence there; still he looked greatly troubled. 
But, as he approached the bed, and bent over liis 
patient, his face cleared, and a cry of surprise broke 
from his lips. 

^^Mrs. Eomaine,” he said, turning quickly to the 
weeping mother, there is a decided change for the bet- 
ter in your son; I think he will live.” 

Margaret echoed Mrs. Eomaine’s great, glad cry, and 


142 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

she flung herself at Aurelia^s feet, with her face buried 
in her hands. 

knew it, dear,^^ she murmured, brokenly, ^^you 
have drawn Gerald back from the^dark valley of the 
shadow of death by your presence — back to life and the 
world from which he was slipping.'’^ 

^^After a good deep sleep lie will awaken refreshed,^^ 
sa^d the doctor. For the first time during his illness 
his mind seems to be perfectly at rest; see, he has 
dropped into a peaceful slumber, with a smile on his 
lips.^^ 

Mrs. Eomaine could not And words to thank God for 
His mercy, her heart was so full of gratitude. 

Who is it that says, ^^a prayer granted is sometimes a 
curse 

The time was coming when those who loved Gerald 
Eomaine best would say it was the greatest pity that 
he had not died in this illness; he would then have 
died with his mother’s hope of heaven infolding him. 


OHAPTEE XXIX. 

YOU THROW ME OFF, TOO, WHAT WILL BECOME 
OF ME?” 

Gerald Eomaihe improved so rapidly that he was 
able to leave his bed in three weeks’ time, and in six to 
join the family at the table. 

To the great relief of the doctor, and thanks to his 
great precautions, the ravages of the dread disease that 
had hovered ov^er the farm, commenced and ended with 
Gerald. 

^^It was fate, certainly, that spared me and my beau- 
ty,” Aurelia would often remark crossly enough to her 
sister. 

But Margaret would answer thankfully that it was 
Heaven’s mercy. 

Owing to the excellent nursing Gerald had received, 
the doctor’s prophecy from the first came true: that he 
would not be marked for life; and only a few faint scars 
over the temple, which promised in time to wear away, 
were visible on his pale, handsome face. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 143 

His great delight was sitting under the trees in the old 
orchard, with Aurelia near him. 

‘^I shall soon be strong enough to commence work on 
my patents again, he declared one day. feel impa- 
tient doing nothing all the live long day. Being an idler 
is the hardest work an ambitious man can find to do. 
Even in my illness, dear, when my thoughts were not on 
you, they were busily working on those patents 

I am tired and sick of hearing of them,^^ declared 
Aurelia, abruptly. I don^t believe you will ever make 
a cent out of them.-^^ 

Aurelial^Mie said gravely, laying a heavy hand on 
her shoulder. 

She shook off his hand, and turned away from, the 
startled gaze of the pained blue eyes regarding her so 
intently. 

Aurelia/^ he continued, catching his breath quick- 

^^you are greatly changed. You are not the same to 
me as before you went away. This thought has been 
forcing itself upon me, and I — oh, I could not — I would 
not give it credence. Tell me that it is only my fancy, 
dear,’^ 

He waited eagerly for her reply, but the girl did not 
speak. 

A great sickening fear whitened his face, but he con- 
tained himself, and said quickly: 

Look up into my face, Aurelia. DonT turn from 
me. Tell me that you care as much for me as you did 
when you went away.""^ 

What if it should not be true, Gerald?^^ she asked, 
with a hysterical laugh. What would you say and 
do?’^ 

My God! DonT you?^^ he panted. 

For once in her life she had the grace to speak the 
truth. It almost seemed to her that those horrified blue 
eyes compelled her to speak truthfully, and she answered 
huskily: 

Not quite."^^ 

Has some One come between us?^’ he asked. Tell 
me — I must know — your silence is killing me.^^ 

Do you remember, she said slowly, ^Helling me 
that I must not fall in love with Kandolph Clavering 
when I went to Clavering villa? Do you remember our 


144 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

conversation on the subject, and — and all that was said, 
Gerald 

Gerald Eomaine leans heavily back against the trunk 
of a tree; intuitively he knows what she is going to say 
next, but he cannot speak — he gives no sign. It is in si- 
lence that the bravest men listen to their death-war- 
rants. 

She sees the mortal agony he is struggling through re- 
flected in his face, and shuddering turns her head away. 

You have learned to love Eandolph Clavering?’^ he 
asks, in a hoarse whisper that is more like a sob. 

could not help it, Gerald,’^ she burst out. He 
was everything that was grand, and handsome as a 
prince, and had such wealth at his command. If I had 
never seen him I am quite sure I could always have been 
true to you.^^ 

There was a pause. Gerald Eomaine was wrestling 
with that adversary of* his, that deadly anger and pain; 
that riotous, tigerish jealousy that makes us all murder- 
ers for a time in thought at least; that mad, wild long- 
ing — madder, wilder than any love ardor — to have that 
rich man who has stolen from him the priceless treasure 
of this girFs love at his mercy for one brief moment. 
The sweat of that combat stands cold upon his brow, but 
he overcomes his wild anguish, and when he can trust 
his voice, he says very gently: 

Will you tell me all about it, little one?^^ 

She had expected bitter reproach — anything but this; 
she looked up into his white, troubled face hesitatingly. 

^^Tell me all about it,*' Aurelia, he said, keep noth- 
ing back. Were you very fond of him?^^ 

Yes,^^ she answered, drearily. I never thought I 
was capable of loving any one so much. I did not think 
it would come to that when I first saw him, for he was 
so cold and proud. I meant to flirt with him a little to 
draw him to my side, because they told me he abhorred 
all women. I only meant to have a little fun with him. 
But he was different to all the other men in the 
world, Gerald. I saw there was no playing fast and 
loose with him — he would love me or he would hate me, 
and somehow I could not bear the thought of Eandolph 
Clavering hating me. We were together day after day, 
and almost before I knew it I watched for his coming 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 145 

step, and found my greatest pleasure in being hear him, 
where I could look into his face and hear him speak/^ 

I can understand, dear,^^ said Gerald, and the misery 
in his voice alarmed her. 

Oh, I ought not to tell you!’^ she cried. Why do 
you make me?^^ 

Because it is best for both of us that I should know 
all,^^ he said brokenly. 

There is not much more to tell,^^ she sobbed, fling- 
ing herself face downward in the clover-scented grass. 

He — he — asked me to — to — marry him, knowing noth- 
ing about you, and telling him nothing about you, I — I 
consented." 

Another long silence. 

Why don’t you tell me you hate me for it, Gerald?" 
she cries. * I cannot bear your stern silence. " 

He comes forward and kneels beside the prostrate 
figure in the long grass and lays his trembling hand on 
the tumbled dark curls. 

^^Hate you!" he whispers, and his tender, soothing 
voice IS husky in spite of his efforts to speak calm, and 
the meekness of a great heroism ennobling his face — 

you poor little soul, why should I hate you? — because 
you have found another man who is better and more 
lovable than I, and because you have eyes to see it?" 

Aurelia sprung up from the grass, put her tumbled 
curls back from her flushed, tear-stained face, and the 
eyes he speaks of turn upon him, wide and startled, in 
astonished disbelief of his great generosity. 

You don’t understand," she pants. I was engaged 
to marry him, but somehow, I don’t knowhow, he found 
out about you, and then in bitter wrath, because I had 
kept that from him, he tauntingly bade me return to 
you, and he left me, vowing he would never look upon 
my face again in this world or the next, and if he ever 
came to heaven and found me there, he would leave it, 
if it plunged him down to the very depths of hades. 
You must hate me for what I have done, Gerald," she 
ends, vehemently. Don’t pretend that you don’t. " 
could never hate you," he answered sorrowfully, 
don’t even hate him" — pausing a moment to thrust 
down and trample under foot one more spasm of that 
intolerable burning jealousy — ^‘^at least, I try not. I 


146 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

was mad to think I could win and hold the love of a be- 
ing so bright and beautiful as yourself, dear; I, who had 
nothing to offer you but the plain love of an honest man. 
I thought love was all that I had to strive for. I quite 
forgot your ambition for wealth. 1 wish to God I had 
had wealth to lay at your feet, then I might have won 
you; but no, I have forgotten. You learned to love 
Clavering, despite his wealth.*^^ 

^^Gerald,^^ she whispered despairingly, am sorry it 
ever happened; but try and forget it, for I am going to 
keep my promise to you. I am going to marry you after 
all.^^ 

He did not turn to her and clasp her m his arms as 
she had expected he would do. There was no sudden 
rush of joy to his face. 

Child!” he cried, ^^you are very generous, but do 
you think I would see you sacrifice yourself so?” He 
shook his head sadly. You don’t know what you are 
saying,” he went on, taking her hand gently in his as he 
spoke, and holding it tremblingly. You don’t know 
what marriage is. If there is a hell upon earth, it is in 
the home of those who are wedded, but who do not love 
each other. There must be a union of hearts as well as 
a union of hands, to make married life happy, or even 
endurable. Chilling indifference soon withers the bond 
of friendship between husband and wife. I would sooner 
die than stand at the altar with a woman whom I did not 
love, and whose every heart-throb was not for me. No, 
little one, I could never do that.” 

She looked up at him with dilated eyes swimming in 
tears. 

A new and sudden terror seized her. 

^^Oh, Gerald,” she sobbed, ^^if you throw me off too, 
what will become of me? I have no one else to go to — I 
have no other home than this. I onust marry you, don’t 
you see?” 

At the sight of her tears, and the trembling of the 
hands imprisoned in his, the mad impulse to take her at 
her word came to him — to clasp her in his arms and kiss 
her tears away. 

If a river of fiame instead of blood were poured through 
his veins, they could not have throbbed with an insaner 
heat. 


147 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

His heart pulsed frantically fast; but the paroxysm 
was short; it was put down— held down strongly. No, 
he would not have a wife whose heart was another's. 
He would give her up, though it tore his heart out by 
the roots. 

Sitting there battling with this great agony, for the 
first time there came to him the bitter knowledge of 
what Margaret — Margaret, the faithful and true — must 
have suffered when the knowledge was forced upon her 
that he whom she loved cared for another. 

Now he realized what she must have endured, and 
lived through^ and he asked himself: 

^MVas this God^s vengeance upon him, for breaking 
Margaret^s heart 


CHAPTER XXX. 

A NOBLE LOVER. 

In all the years of Gerald Eomain^s after-life — years 
filled with bitter experiences and pain — he never forgot 
that moment in which he stood face to face with the 
greatest sorrow he had ever known. 

'How strange are the yearnings of the human heart! 

Never, until that moment, did Gerald know fully just 
how dear Aurelia was to him. Giving her up seemed 
like tearing the heart from his body. 

He looked at her sitting there under the blossoming 
apple-tree, with the sunlight on her beautiful face and 
dark, curly head — on the little hands, white as lily 
leaves, lying in her lap against the soft pink of her mull 
dress, and he could hardly restrain himself from flinging 
himself at her feet and crying out that he was not 
strong enough to part from her — that he would take her 
— only Heaven could know how gladly — even though the 
heart that should be all his luas anotlEier^s. 

^‘1 repeat,^^ said Aurelia, taking up the thread of con- 
versation where they had dropped it a few moments be- 
fore, ^‘that I will marry you if you still wish me to do 
so, Gerald, now that you know all. Indeed^" — she went 
on pathetically — I suppose I shall have to.’^ 

He looked at her sorrowfully. 

No, Aurelia, he said, ^^you shall not sacrifice your 


148 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


life by joining it with the destiny of a man for whom 
you care absolutely nothing. I release you from your 
betrothal. Thank God the truth has all come out be- 
fore marriage. No; I will not marry you. You are 
free — free for Eandolph Clavering to woo and win you.^^ 
And for you to woo and win somebody else/^ she 

said. 

He caught her two little hands in his, and looked 
down into her eyes. 

^^Look at me and believe me, dear,^^ he said huskily. 
^^As I have said to you before, so I say now: I shall 
love you to-day, to- morrow, and alwa3'S.^^ 

His great, powerful love, with all its intensity — its 
hopelessness, rang in his husky voice. It would have 
touched a heart of marble. 

Aurelia could not help feeling a little sorry for him, 
and with the impulsiveness characteristic of her, she 
drooped her pretty head in pity, and her red lips touched 
the hands that clasped hers so tightly. 

She had forgotten that he was her lover — had forgot- 
ten that he was a man. She remembered only that he 
was grieving over losing her, and she could not sit quiet- 
ly by without trying to comfort him a little. 

Despite the closeness of her soft, supple form to his, 
as she leans over his clasped hands, he feels none of the 
passionate longing to encircle her in his arms, and waste 
his whole soul in burning kisses upon her beautiful face. 
This longing is tamed by a nobler emotion, and dare as 
little assail him now, as it dare assail the holy angels in 
paradise. 

With any other man that caress might have been dan- 
gerous; with him she was safe. He laid his hand on the 
dark, curly head and stroked it. 

DonT make the parting any harder for me to bear, 
dear,^^ he said huskily. Anger would have been kinder 
than this 

^^Partr^ she exclaimed wonderingly. ^^Why, Gerald, 
you forget that, even though all is over between you and 
me, we shall still be under the same roof.'^^ 

He laughed the dreariest laugh that was ever heard. 

‘‘ You might endure that, but I never could, he said 
quietly. No, no, Aurelia; I shall not consign myself 
to a living death; and seeing you constantly, now that 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 149 

I know you never can be mine, would be worse than 
death to me. I shall go away — so faraway that you will 
never hear of me or of my failures — if I make any — in 
the struggle for fame and fortune. I will throw myself 
body and soul into hard work — not with the hope of for- 
getting you, for that could never be; I have loved you 
too well for that. There is not an hour in the day when 
your face will not bo before me, and when I will not 
long to be near you. But, with God^s help, I will live 
such longings down, I shall try not to let it wreck my 
life. Hard work will be my only panacea. 

^^This I would say to you, dear; if you ever need a 
true and honest friend, send for me, and no matter in 
what part of the world I may be, I will come to you. If 
you are ever in want I will share the last dollar I have 
with you, or — or with any one whom you loved. In such 
a time I might be able to prove to you the depths of my 
love for you.^^ 

When do you expect to go, Gerald she asked, with 
a shudder, yet withal with a feeling of relief; for the 
thought that flashed through her mind while he was 
speaking was: with Gerald out of the way, and this be- 
trothal broken off, she could write Kandolph Clavering 
to come to her. 

The sooner I go the better, returned Gerald, quiet- 
ly. I shall take the early morning train; I shall be 
far away from the farm long hours before you are awake, 
and for that reason we must say good-bye to each other 
here and now. I could not part from you before all the 
rest. I will say good-bye to them to-night. 

He drew her toward him gently, looking with his 
whole soul into the fatally beautiful face he had loved 
too well. 

Darling,^’ he whispered, yearningly, ^^if death had 
taken you from me, and you lay in your coffin, I should 
bend over you and lay upon your lips my last farewell 
kiss. May I kiss you with just such a kiss no\v? Ee- 
membor it is the last and only one I will ever give you, 
and all that is left of my heart's broken love-dream Avill 
be in it. You do not speak, Aurelia?" he added. ^^Is 
it so hard, dear, to grant my last request?" 

She raised her face to his, and the clasp of his arms 
tightened about her, and foi- fpany a long day afterward 


150 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

the memory of that last, burning, despairing kiss burned 
her lips. 

Shall you write to me, Gerald she asked, as he was 
turning away. 

^‘Ihad best not, ^Mie answered; and with the words, 

farewell, my lost love,^^ he turned abruptly and walked 
down the path, and Aurelia returned alone to the house. 

He did not join the family at the tea-table — only Au- 
relia knew why. She went to her room early that he 
might have the opportunity of acquainting them of his 
sudden departure and taking leave of them; she could 
not bear another sight of his pale, reproachful face. 

The grief of Farmer Eomaine and his wife was great 
when Gerald broke the startling news to them that he 
was to leave them on the morrow — to remain long years 
perhaps. Margaret heard the words with a 'paling 
cheek. 

Aurelia has told him of her love for Eandolph Clav- 
ering, she thought — ay, she Tcnew that must be the 
cause of his sudden and unexpected exile, and her heart 
bled for him! 

^^May God give him strength to bear it,^^ was gentle 
MargareCs prayer to Heaven. 

He turned from his weeping mother to Margaret and 
held out his hands. 

Good-bye, Margaret, sweet Margaret, faithful and 
true I^Mie said, Avith tears in his eyes. ^^If we never 
meet again in this world — I — I — shall never forget you. 
Heaven bless you for your kindness — your — your — for- 
bearance with me, Margaret, he murmured, brokenly. 

You are too tender of heart, too noble of soul, to re- 
joice in the great sorroAv that God has put upon me! 
Know this much, that the misery I thoughtlessly dealt 
out to you has been brought back tenfold to my own 
door. I have no right to expect your sympathy — your 
pity: but I say to you, gentle Margaret, whom I have so 
bitterly and thoughtlessly wronged: Think of me and my 
faults, and my heartlessness toward you, as kindly as 
you can.'’^ 

Eeverently he raised the little ice-cold hand to his lips. 
There was the opening and shutting of the door that led 
up the stairway to his room. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 151 

Farmer Eomaine and his wife followed Gerald there, 
and Margaret was alone. 

Only Heaven, and the pale, white stars gleaming in 
through the open Avindows, saw how she dropped on her 
knees and kissed the faded roses of the carpet that Ger- 
ald's feet had so lately pressed, and Avatered them Avith 
her anguished tears. 

She tried to say God^s will be done,^^ but her cold 
lips Avould not frame the words; and in the abandon of 
her Avild grief she cried out that, for the first time in her 
life, she doubted the judgment and wisdom of God. 

‘‘^0 good came of his being taken from me when I 
loved him so Avell,^' she moaned. I Avould have 
guarded his heart and his love so tenderly — noAV it is 
crushed, trampled upon, and tossed aside like a useless 
toy. May HeaA^en give him the strength to bear it.""^ 

Hothing but Avonder filled her heart, that Aurelia 
.could have given up such an adoring lo\'e as Gerald Ro- 
maine’s for any other man’s in the universe. 

Hoav strangely Heaven directed men’s hearts! Tavo 
good and noble men had loved Aurelia with all the 
strength of their natures, and nobody had ever loved 
her. 

As Gerald had said, she Avas too noble to rejoice that 
he had lost Aurelia. 

Her love for him Avas so deep and true that she was 
grieved to the depths of her soul at his grief and blighted 
hopes. 

Now he would know all the weary heart-hunger she 
had endured, and she thought of the sad lines that had 
come to her so often of late, and which she had always 
wept over: 

“ ’Tis sweet to feel in this sad world of change, 

Where selfishness and pride so much abound, 

That there is one, however wide we range. 

To greet us lovingly when home is found. 

One whom we know will faithful be till death. 

Whose heart-throbs play in concert with our own; 
Whose love will bless us till our latest breath, 

To whose pure bosom falsehood is unknown. 

‘‘ The famished wretch who drops his head with shame, 
Maybe relieved by any passer-by; 

The ardent youth who hungers after fame 
Has always hope of feasting presently. 


152 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

But, oh! to feel that we are all alone, 

That love’s sweet cup has vapored to the lees; 

That there* is no heart we can call our own — 

This is a hunger nothing can appease.^ 

To wander on without a ray of hope, 

To find no respite even in our sleep; 

Life’s sun extinguished, in the dark to grope, 

And hopeless through this world to creep. 

No balm for us — no medicine can cure — 

The ailing is beyond the reach of art; 

All other hunger strong men may endure. 

Except the weary, dreary hunger of the heart.” 

But there was little use in dreaming over what might 
have been; the question now was, to look bravely toward 
the future, and learn to forget her love for a man whose 
life was wrecked on the rock of Aurelia^s love — for he 
could never be anything to her. 


CHAPTEE XXXI. 

GKEAT CHANGES THAT ALTER TWO DESTINIES. 

Time never lingers in its perpetual journey onward. 
Almost before we are aware of it, the past lies far be- 
hind us and we stand upon the threshold of the future — 
that future which so many wish they could foresee, but 
which they would shrink from with dread greater than 
even the fear of death — if the curtains which shut it 
out from our gaze could be lifted but for one little mo- 
ment. 

Six months had winged its slow flight by since Gerald 
Eomaine had left home. 

On the very eve of his departure Aurelia had written 
to Randolph Clavering, telling him that no one stood 
between them now — that she was free — free to love him, 
and to have the hope that all love for her had not died 
out of his heart. 

But to this effusive epistle Aurelia received no reply; 
and she knew then that Randolph Clavering had kept 
his word and gone abroad, and that he would be absent, 
as he had said, Perhaps long years — perhaps forever;''^ 
and the girl’s life merged into one great hope and ex- 
pectancy of what might happen when he returned and 
found her — free. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 158 

Oh, if she but knew where to write to him to tell him 
about it, was the one cry of her soul. 

How detestable the plain, homely farm life, with its 
prosaic daily routine, seemed to her when she compared 
it with the gorgeous oriental scenes which Randolph 
Clavering was enjoying. 

She hated the sight of the cows, browsing in the past- 
ure, and the mild- eyed sheep on the green lea. She 
never deigned to notice the farm hands, and always 
scoffed at Margaret for giving them a kindly smile or a 
word as she passed them by. 

There were three at the old farmhouse who missed 
Gerald^s presence more than tongue could tell. Farmer 
Eomaine never complained, but when he sat for hours 
on the porch at night, silently smoking his pipe and 
looking with thoughtful eyes toward the south, they 
knew his thoughts were with his son. Mrs. Romaine 
grieved for Gerald as only mothers can grieve for an ab- 
sent son; and Margaret, gentle, faithful Margaret, never 
laid her head to rest without saying in her prayer: 

Heaven watch over Gerald. 

And the one Gerald Romaine loved best, never gave 
him a thought, save to rejoice that he had goOe. 

For the first few months Gerald^s letters came regu- 
larly enough; then came a letter at length telling them 
of a long and perilous journey to Brazil which he in- 
tended to take in the interest of his patents. 

My hopes have been greatly raised,^* he wrote, ^^yet 
if they come to naught I will still be cheerful and hope 
on; but if my expectations are realized 1 shall be a rich 
man — rich beyond my wildest dreams. How happy I 
could make you all then — there would be no more toil, 
no more worrying to make both ends meet.^^ 

There had been tears in Farmer Romaine’s eyes when 
he laid down that letter. 

Bless the boy,^Mie sg;id, huskily; ^Mie means well, 
but I could never leave the farm, wife. I have been 
brought up to honest toil; a life of idleness would not 
set well with me. I want to live and die here where I 
can see the fruits of my industry around me — see the 
sun ripening the grain in the fields, and breathe the free 
air of Heaven. 


154 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

I don^t like the idea of Gerald^s going away off to 
Brazil — it seems like going out of the world. His eager 
yearing for wealth may carry our boy too far_, Eachel. 
Many a man started for Brazil in my younger days, 
when the diamond fever broke out there, but none of 
them ever lived to come back. They fell sick in the 
swamps and died there. I wish Gerald had not gone to 
Brazil. I have a strange forewarning that I shall never 
see my boy again. 

Perhaps it was this last thought which preyed upon 
his mind, until at last his health gave way under it. 

For three or four days, ere he guccurnbed to the fatal 
illness which hovered about him, casting its dark 
shadows over him, Farmer Komaine^s manner seemed 
peculiar. 

He had been more than usually quiet, and spent most 
of his time in his arm-chair on the porch, saying little to 
any one, but with an expression on his face that rather 
troubled his wife; it was so unlike the bright, cheerful 
one natural to him. 

She went to him and laid her hands on his shoulders, 
looking anxiously down into his dreamy eyes. 

What" are you thinking of all the time you sit here, 
John?"^ she said. 

I am thinking of Gerald. Sometimes I fancy that 
he is beside me, talking to me, and I can scarcely per- 
suade myself that the sound of his voice calling my name 
was but my imagination.’-^ 

That is a sick fancy, John,^’ she returned quickly. 

^^Is it?^-^ he answered carelessly, adding: I think you 
must be right, Eachel. I have not^felt well this last 
fortnight; but I do not like to complain. 

Mrs. Eomaine bent over her husband, her honest face 
full of solicitude. 

The hand she touched was burning hot, and his face 
had a crimson flush. 

She did not feel quite at ^ase about him. She had 
never seen him like this before. 

You are not well, John,'’’ she said. I wish you 
would see a doctor.” 

He laughed. There is nothing a man hates more than 
the mention of a doctor. 

He would do me no good, Eachel,” he declared. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 155 

You are the best doctor I could have. There is noth- 
ing wrong with me, but that iny head is filled with fool- 
ish fancies. 

About Gerald she asked quickly. 

He nodded. 

What are your fancies, John?^^ she said. Tell me 
about them.^^ 

I am almost ashamed to express them,^^ he replied 
dreamily. ^^It seems foolish, but the wonder is, that at 
times they seem so real. I often fancy I see Gerald up 
there in the clouds, and he is calling to me.'’^ 

Is my only son dead, or is John about to be taken 
from me?^^ the poor woman asked herself in the great- 
est alarm. Surely these fancies were the token of 
some dread calamity which seemed about to fall upon 
her. 

She sought Margaret at once to consult with her. 

She never dreamed of seeking Aurelia. 

I have noticed that he did not look well lately,^’ 
Margaret said soothingly; ^^but as he has never been 
sick a day in his life, let us hope that this indisposition 
will wear away.'’^ 

^^Oh, what a comfort you are to me, Margaret, she 
sobbed. 

That evening Margaret lingered long at the old gentle- 
man^s side as he sat on the moonlit porch. 

The expression on his face struck her, and her heart 
ached for him. 

^^Margaret,^^ he said slowly, ^^they say that when 
strong men are taken ill — men who have been well and 
strong all their lives — that they go quickly. Do you 
think that is true?’^ 

Yes,^^ she said. But, oh. Uncle John, why do you 
speak of that?^^ 

He laid his trembling hand on her bowed head. 

You are so wise and sensible, I can talk to you, Mar- 
garet,^^ he said slowly, in a low voice. Listen to what 
I am going to say now, child. I am ill, Margaret, I am 
very much more ill than any one dreams or imagines, 
but I dread lest my dear old wife should know it. Ah, 
Margaret, I — I am afraid.^’ 

The girFs lovely face grew pale; her eyes sought his. 


156 THE BEAVTIEUL COQUETTE, 

In all the past years, she had never heard the strong, 
bravo, patient man speak of being afraid. 

Of what are you afraid. Uncle John?^^ she whispered; 
and the sadden terror in her heart told her what he was 
about to say. 

am afraid my time has come — togo,^^ he said soft- 
ly. feel ill, with a strange sensation of weakness; 
and, Margaret, I am quite sure it is because the gray 
shadow of death is lowering — lowering over my head, 
and will soon infold me. Do you understand my pre- 
sentiment, Margaret 

^^Yes,^^ she replied, with a long-drawn, bitter sob; 
^^but I will not, I cannot believe that you are to be 
taken from us. I cannot think of life without you, you 
have been so much to us. If you die, we shall die with 
you. We could not part from you.^^ 

He was looking dreamily at her. 

^^I should not like to go just yet,^^ he sighed, ^^not 
until the mortgage is cleared from the farm. Debt is a 
sad heritage to leave one’s loved ones. I have always 
beeh frugal and saving; but accumulating has been the 
slow work of years of toil — I have saved but little. The 
thought of death brings terror to a man, when he knows 
he has left his loved ones unprovided for. 

At that moment Aurelia came out on the porch to look 
for Margaret, and, with a sigh, John Eoniaine leaned 
back in his chair, and bade Margaret go with her sister 
— Aurelia^s presence always had a harassing effect upon 
him. Margaret knew that, and went with lier, though 
she was loath to leave him — he seemed to derive such 
comfort in talking to her, and having her near him. If 
Margaret had been his own daughter, John Komaine 
could not have loved her more. 

John Romainedid not answer his wife’s summons when 
she called to him to come in, that the night-dew was 
falling; and going up to him she found him sitting with 
his face turned toward the south, and a peaceful smile 
on his lips. John Romaine’s ears would never hearken 
to mortal sounds again — his soul had quietly fluttered 
away to that realm from whence no traveler ever returns. 
He was sitting there, with the moonlight falling like a 
halo about his calm face— dead! 

Upon Margaret devolved the care of laying him to 


THE EEAtJTlFtJL COQUETTE, l5t 

rest, for Mrs. Komaiue was stricken down by the terrible 
blow. 

But sorrow, even as pitiful as death, rarely travels 
singly; within a fortnight after they had made John 
Eomaine^s grave under the drooping willow, they placed 
his wife beside him. 

Her lips had never opened from the hour that she had 
made tlie terrible discovery of her husband^s death; the 
sudden shock had completely prostrated her, and it 
ended in a stroke of apoplexy and partial paralysis. 

It looks to me,^^ said Aurelia, as the two sisters 
watched beside Mrs. Eomaine, that there is something 
she wishes to tell me. Do you see how her eyes follow 
me about 

^^Yes; I have noticed it,^^ whispered Margaret, 
slowly. 

Perhaps it is something concerning our parentage, 
returned Aurelia; I have always thought she knew 
more about us than she ever told."^^ 

But what it was, Aurelia was never destined to know 
from Mrs. Eomain^s lips. The warning which would 
have saved so many lives from being wrecked, was not 
destined to be told by her. The story of the past was 
buried with her, to Aurelia^s bitter cost. 


CHAPTEE XXXII. 

SHOULD MAY WED WITH DECEMBER? 

The great changes which had taken place at Eomaine 
farm had come upon the two girls so suddenly that, for 
a time, they were quite paralyzed with their grief. 

The duties of the whole trying affair developed upon 
Margaret. Aurelia was very helpless; she could only 
sit and wring her white hands, exclaiming, piteously: 

What is to become of us, now that they are gone, 
Margy 

The only thing that I know of is to run the farm as 
best we can until we hear from Gerald,^’ returned Mar- 
garet, thoughtfully. 

This matter fate soon settled for them in the person 
of a grim old farmer, who, immediately after the fune. 


158 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


ral was over, took charge of the estate, and to Margaret 
he unfolded the terrible news that, as the mortgage 
money was long since over-due, together with the accu- 
mulated interest, he should sell Eomaine farm at once 
under foreclosure. 

Then the cry that was so often on Aurelia^s lips fell 
from Margaret's: 

What will become of my sister and me? Heaven 
have pity on us!" 

There was only one person to whom Margaret would 
have gone for counsel, and that was good old Dr. 
Thorpe;^ but unfortunately, he was away. He had been 
called to New York on business, and his return was very 
uncertain. 

The gruff old farmer was touched by Margaret's grief. 

You see, sir, we have never known any other home," 
she said, striving bravely to keep back her tears, and 
going out to face the world seems a little hard to us at 
first; I do not care so much for myself; it is only Aure- 
lia that I feel sorry for." 

Silas Phelps drew his chair, awkwardly, nearer Mar- 
garet, looking, with eager eyes, at the pale, sweet 
young face. 

There would be no call for you to leave the place, 
if you only was to say the word. Miss Lancaster," he said, 
with a little chuckling laugh, and drawing his chair near- 
er still to the girl. 

^^Do you mean to say that Aurelia and I can really 
stay here fora little while, sir — until I can see my way 
clear as to what to do in the future?" 

That's what I said, and I'll stick to it. Miss Lancas- 
ter," he declared. 

Oh, how good you are, sir I" sobbed Margaret. God 
will surely reward you for your kindness to us!" 

want you to reward me. Miss Lancaster," he said, 
with a sly wink. never call on strangers for fa- 

vors." 

said Margaret, raising her puzzled eyes won- 
deringly to his. 

He nodded, and hitched his chair al ittle nearer still — 
so near that his hot breath, as he leaned eagerly toward 
her, fanned the girl's cold, white cheek. 

If there is anything that I can do for you, I shall be 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


159 


very pleased/^ returned Margaret, rising with quiet dig- 
nity from her chair, and retreating to the window. 

The unwieldly old farmer followed her with alacrity. 

^^By jingo! how shy you are. Miss Lancaster!^^ he 
cried, with a loud, explosive laugh, as difficult to ap- 
proach as a wild squirrel. 

His demeanor certainly alarmed Margaret; she was 
quite at a loss what reply to make to this; so she made 
none, but looked at him, calmly, wonderingly. 

^‘1 know I ain't neither young, nor likewise very hand- 
some, Miss Lancaster," he began, hesitatingly; ‘‘but 
I've got that which goes a mighty sight further than a 
good-looking face and white hands — I've got plenty of 
monev, and that's what the women are after nowadavs, 
I find?' 

Sir," said Margaret, flushing painfully, “ I do not 
comprehend your meaning in the least. Kindly excuse 
me. Aurelia needs me!" 

“ Come, come, now, you do understand," he declared, 
with another loud laugh and a wink. “ I ain't a man to 
talk flowery nonsense like a young, foolish fellow, but I 
reckon you know what I'm tryin' to git at. Well, here 
it is, plain talk, then — I’d like fer to marry you. Miss 
Lancaster. I've sort o' taken a fancy to your quiet, 
ladylike ways and your sweet face. Marry me, and your 
sister can stay here along o' you. As I said afore, I'm 
not as young as I once was, but I'm a mighty spry man 
for one just turned sixty — chipper as a boy — and I'm 
worth a heap." 

^^Sir!" echoed Margaret, aghast, when she could find 
her voice. 

“Come, now, don’t call me that," he cut in. Say 
Silas. You might do worse than to marry a rich wid- 
ower, I can tell you, my girl," he went on impatiently. 
“There's plenty o' 'em would jest jump at the chance 
o' bein' Mrs. Silas Phelps. I kin draw my check for 
half a million o' money. That's all I need to say to 
any woman I want for a wife — and I'd get her, you 
bet!" 

‘^Mr. Phelps," said Margaret, kindly, “believe me, I 
am deeply graieful for the honor you have paid me in 
asking me to be your wife — the greatest honor a man 


160 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

can pay to a woman; but I answer that it can never 
be/^ 

Hey exclaimed Silas Phelps, thunderstruck. Did 
you refuse me? Didn't you hear me say I was worth 
half a million o' money?" 

^^All the money in the world does not buy love, Mr. 
Phelps," returned Margaret, gravely, but gently. 

Money is the least consideration a woman should look 
for in making a choice of a husband, with whom she has 
to live all her life." 

Well, I'll be hanged if I ever heard the like of that 
talk from a woman's lips afore. You must be a differ- 
ent being from the rest o' the sex. Miss Lancaster,'-^ he 
declared, looking at her curiously and angrily. I'll 
bet that the reason is — because you think I'm too old 
to marry a young girl. Come, be honest now, isn't that 
it?" 

I do not believe any young girl should marry with- 
out love," repeated Margaret; and I believe it impos- 
sible for a young girl to really love an old man — it is not 
natural." 

I'll never forgive you to the day I die for that insult, 
Margaret Lancaster!" he cried, springing to his feet, his 
face fairly purple with rage. I'll show you how I kiti 
resent it." 

I had no thought of insulting you, sir. I only spoke 
the simple truth," said Margaret, greatly startled at the 
volcano of wrath she had stirred up. 

I reckon you'll understand afore you are two days 
older what refusin' me means fer you. I’ll tell you this: 
if you don’t come to me or send for me in two days' 
time, and say, ^I've changed my mind. I'll marry you, 
Silas,' out of this house you'll go — you and your sister 
along with you, in double-quick time. Now, you hear 
what I said, and you know what I'll do if I don’t hear 
satisfactory from you. Good- morning. Miss Margaret 
Lancaster." 

LiKe one turned suddenly to stone, Margaret watched 
him depart, and the sound of his heavy tread, as he 
walked down the gravel path that led to the gate, was 
like a death- knell on the girl’s heart. 

With trembling steps she flew up the stairs and 
burst sobbingly into the room where Aurelia was sit- 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

ting, and casting herself on the hassock beside Aurelia 
in broken gasps and sobs she told her of what had just 
happened. ^ 

^'And you refused — old Silas Phelps!'' 'cried Aurelia 
when she had come to the end of her story. I can'i, 
believe I have heard aright." 

Of course, dear," sighed Margaret, lifting her tear 
stained face from her sister's shoulder. 

^'Then you were a bigger fool than I even took yout 
be," declared Aurelia, but thank fortune he gave yo 
two days' respite in which to think the matter over- 
thaPs the only thing that has saved us." 

Surely, Aurelia," gasped Margaret, ^^you dor 
think — you don^t mean — tliat I should — that I could — 

1 mean that you will have to marry old Phelps 
course," cut in Aurelia. Gracious goodness! if he had 
taken you at your word at once, Ave would both liaA^e 
been turned out of doors." 

would rather be turned out of doors than marry 
Mr. Phelps," sobbed Margaret. can only believe 3 011 
are jesting, Aurelia, when you even propose such a pos- 
sibility, and it is a sorrowful subject to jest on." 

I am not jesting," returned her sister, wrathfully, 

I never was more in earnest in my life. It is enough 
to make me fairly raging to know you came so near 
throwing away half a million of money, and you and I as 
poor as two church mice." 

You seem to forget that he is an old man — and that 
I could never love him," gasped Margaret, looking at 
her in horrified amazement. 

^^Fiddlesticks!" retorted Aurelia, who said anything 
about your loving him? I didn't, I'm sure. Marry him 
and never mind about the love. He will give you plenty 
of money, and then you and I can see something of life. 
We can have fine clothes and diamonds, ride in our car- 
riage, and go Avhere Ave like, leaving him Avhere he be- 
longs, vegetating on his old farm." 

^^I Avould not deceive him so., I would marry no man 
for his money, Aurelia," said Margaret, solemnly. 

You always Avas a little goody-goody fool!" stormed 
Aurelia. ^^If you Avant to be an angel you should not 
stay doAvn here— you should go up where angels belong.. 


162 


^THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

Now, Margaret, be reasonable; you'll have to marry old 
Phelps to save us, and you know it." 

could not sacrifice my life in that way, dear," 
sobbed Margaret, piteously: ''ask anything else of me 
and I will do it, cheerfully." 

You will have to marry old Phelps, and you know 
^Tou will, so where's the use of making a scene over it?" 
iumandeJ Aurelia. 

^‘1 would sooner die," murmured Margaret, with hor- 
ror. " Oh, do not speak about it again, Aurelia, I — I — 
shall faint if you do." 

I shall write a note to Phelps, and tell him that you 
accept him," declared Aurelia, " and then you will have 
to accede with the best grace possible. I am going to 
see that you do not throw half a million of dollars away 
and throw both of us out on the world by your foolish 
■notions. I'll write this very night, and I shall declare to 
him that you wrote the letter, and rest assured he will 
hold you to it." 

"Oh, Aurelia, I could not marry old Mr. Phelps," 
sobbed Margaret; "better starve than marry a man 
whom I should abhor." 

"I should not fancy starving even if you do,"retorted 
Aurelia, "and besides," she added — "you ought to have 
some feeling for me; think of all the fine t^hings you 
could buy me if you were only married rich," she 
urged. 

" Such a marriage would be a sin against Heaven," 
cried Margaret, sobbing as though her heart would 
break; " it can never be, Aurelia. I tell you," she cried, 
vehemently, "I would rather lie dead, with the hope of 
resting quietly in the grave beside mother, than link 
my life to one who would bring me nothing but endless 
misery." 

"Half a million dollars would bring you any amount 
of pleasures, I fancy," sneered Aurelia, heartlessly. She 
well knew her fatal influence when she brought it to bear 
with full force upon Margaret. She could not hold out 
long against her persuasions. 

No matter what Margaret's feelings might be, Aurelia 
determined that she should marry rich old Silas Phelps. 
Margaret would be powerless to resist, in her hands. 


163 


THE BEa : Tll^'UL COOl C 

CHAPTER XXX ; i : „ 

FACING THE CRUEL WORLtv 

Despite MargarePs tearfnl entreaty, Aurelia . 

letter to Farmer Phelps that night, and on Uie receipt .'T 
it, the old man was highly elated. 

There was one thing about the affair which he did -.ot 
quite relish; and that was that it should be a week ^y.)x- 
that date, at the earliest, that he should call upon Mar- 
garet as a prospective bridegroom — she must have thar 
length of time to accustom herself to the idea of looking 
upon him in that light. 

^^MVell, I suppose all women have their whims, "Mie 
said, twisting up the letter to light his pipe with — to save 
burning a match; and mebbe it’s jest as well to humor 
^em afore marriage, at least. 

Silas Phelps had a little spark of romance in him 
yet. 

All that day, as he goes about the homely duties of 
the farm, he can think of nothing else but Margaret Lan- 
caster. 

AVith all the enthusiasm of a younger man he pictures 
Margaret at the window watching for him, as she will do 
when she is his wife — Margaret, in the blue, clinging 
dress that shows off every line and curve of the supple, 
slender, girlish figure; and he thinks of her until the 
blood courses in youthful riotousness through his 
veins; and, as he looks about him, he glories in the 
wealth and power that has brought her to his feet, so to 
speak. 

Meanwhile the object of his thoughts was unhappy 
enough. 

It was bitter work combating Aurelia^s fixed determin- 
ation, and Aurelia had set her heart upon Margaret^s 
marrying Silas Phelps^ money. 

There is only one thing left for me to do,^^ said Mar- 
garet at length, in despair; and that is, to tell Mr. 
Phelps when he comes that I did not write the letter, and 
that you wrote it and sent it without my sanction, and 
that I do not hold myself responsible for anything it may 
contain. 


164 


the beatttiful coquette. 

V 

And be bundled out of the house the next minute/^ 
sneered Aurelia. 

I cannot help what may happen then, sobbed Mar- 
garet. I tell you I would rather die than marry Mr. 
r - Ips.^^ 

. nil, for the first time in her life, she parted from her 

r in bitter anger. 

I do not see why I was ever born,^^ sobbed Margaret 
that night as she paced up and down under the trees. 

I have not had a pleasant life of it like other girls. 
Why have I not been shown more mercy? — even the star 
of love, that radiates other young girls^ lives, and makes 
life worth the living, set almost as soon as it had risen, 
with me, and left me in gloom, darker and more deso- 
late than death. I cry out again, why was I ever born? 
— or why did not my mother take me with her in my in- 
fancy, to that land where there are no heartaches, no 
sorrows?’^ 

Only the wind moaning in the trees overhead heard 
poor Margaret\s lamentations. The breeze sighed with 
her as it quivered among the swaying green leaves, then 
drifted onward. 

I have come out here to think what I had best do,’^ 
she murmured, pacing hurriedly up and down; but 
somehow my thoughts are all chaos. 

For long hours she paced up and down under the trees 
wringing her slender white hands, imploring Heaven to 
show her some way out of the difficulty. 

Then, all at once, like an inspiration, a sudden idea 
came to her — why not go quietly away, so far away that 
Silas Phelps^ name would be never again sounded in her 
ears? 

The more Margaret thought of the matter, the more 
the idea grew upon her, and she decided to put it into 
execution at once, while she had the courage to execute 
it. 

Hurrying into the house, Margaret stole quietly past 
the room where Aurelia slept, and gained her own apart- 
ment. 

Very noiselessly she packed an old sachel with her few 
belongings — that done, she proceeded to write a few 
hasty lines to Aurelia: 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 165 

Daklikg/^ — slie wrote — When you read this I 
shall be far away. I leave you with a breaking heart; 
butj oh! dearest sister, I could not stay and marry Mr. 
Phelps. By dint of hard saving of all the pin-money 
dear old Uncle John gave me, I managed to lay by a hun- 
dred dollars. I will take twenty-five of it with me; the 
rest I leave with you, and feel thankful in the knowledge 
that it will keep you from immediate Avant Avhen Mr. 
Phelps asks you to leave the farm. You will find it in 
my little black trunk, dear. Take the money, and board 
economically in the village Avitli it until you hear from 
me; long before it is exhausted, I hope to have found 
something in New York to do by which I can make 
enough to support you and me comfortably. When I do, 
I shall write you at once. Oh, dearest! do not blame 
me for the step I have taken — believe me, I have 
weighed this action over with the utmost consideration. 

I Avould give my life for you, darling — to see you 
happy and surrounded by luxury such as you crave and 
your beauty should have; but, oh! I cannot purchase 
it by marrying Mr. Phelps; life with him would be a 
living death. Good-bye, love; I cover the paper I Avrite 
upon Avith a world of loving kisses, knowing that it Avill 
rest in your Avhite hands Avhile your eyes travel OA^er 
what I haA^e written here. Let us hope for the best in 
our future, darling! Surely God, Avho is so good — Avho 
takes care of even the little, helpless sparroAVS, Avill not 
let us Avant! 

As a last request, I say to you, darling, until you 
hear from me, always think of your poor, unhappy Mar- 
garet at her best!’’ 

There Avas no signature to this tear-blotted epistle — in- 
deed, it needed none. 

Carefully placing the note where Aurelia would be sure 
to see it directly she entered the room, Margaret stole 
quietly to the door. 

Good-bye, old room!” she sobbed, turning back 
Avaveringly for one moment Avben she reached the thresh- 
old. ^^Even in my dreams in my after-life I shall see 
that little Avhite bed, that rug — the stand, Avith the little 
cracked mirror over it; that vase, Avith fiowers, on the 
Avindow-sill; my little black trunk, and the sloping roof, 
Avith its Avhitewashed rafters. You are to be my home 


166 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

never again, little room — for the old farm has passed into 
a stranger’s hands.” 

Margaret could not utter another syllable, her heart 
was so full; and turning quickly away, she hurried down 
the narrow passage. At Aurelia’s door, she paused. 

■^I am doing it all for the best, dearest,” she sobbed, 
below her breath. *^1 know you will censure me bit- 
terly; but, oh! I could noD marry Mr. Phelps — not even 
to please you.” 

With quiet footsteps, Margaret passed out of the 
house. 

As she shut the wicket-gate behind her, the clock, in 
a far-off belfry — slowly, in measured strokes — tolled the 
hour of ten. 

She had plenty of time to reach the cross-roads, for 
the New York train did not reach there until within a 
few moments of midnight. 

She took the path which led to it in a roundabout way 
over the hills; though there were many other paths 
much nearer it, she chose this roundabout route because 
it would take her past the old churchyard, where her 
mother lay. 

She reached it, and passed swiftly through the tall 
gate into the enclosure. 

She knew her way perfectly well; she walked on, 
shivering, though it was a summer’s night, quietly among 
the green graves of the quiet, sleeping dead; she knew 
no fear; although the pale moon threw ghastly shadows 
on the grass; the tall fir-trees looked like giants, and 
the white marble crosses gleamed under the stars. She 
knew no fear, but went up to the green, grassy mound, 
under which her young mother slept. 

How strange it seemed to picture her young, and to 
think that all the years that had come and gone had 
been nothing to her. 

Margaret sunk down upon her knees on the mound, 
and buried her tear-stained face in the long, cool grass. 

^^lam going away, mother,” she sobbed, but, oh, 
you, whose white soul is in heaven — you who are, per- 
haps, looking down even now upon your unhappy child, 
know that it is best. Ah, mother, how often I have 
wished that you had taken me with you when you left 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


167 


this cold and bitter world; but it is too late for repining 
now. Perhaps you had some good reason in wanting me 
to live. 

There will be no one to train the white roses over 
your grave when I am gone, and no one to brush away 
the cold white sheets of snow when winter comes. I am 
never coming back until my last hour is drawing near, 
mother; then I am coming back to die upon your grave, 
with my head lying above your cold, pulseless heart; 
and then, maybe, they will bury me beside you.^^ 

Long and freely her pent-up tears flowed. 

Then she aroused herself to the necessity of the pres- 
ent. She must go at once if she were to reach the cross- 
roads in time for the New York express. 

She never forgot that last hour which she spent at her 
mother^s grave, and the heartrending grief it was to her 
to at length tear herself away. 

The face of the heavens had changed since she had 
been kneeling there. The moon had hidden her pale face 
behind lowering clouds, which had spread slowly, shut- 
ting out the light of the golden stars one by one. 

The trees swayed to and from each other; the air 
freshened, and as Margaret looked up at the dark sky, a 
few raindrops pattered down upon her white face. She 
always said to herself ever afterward that they were her 
angel mother’s tears up in heaven — that her young 
mother was sorry for her, and grieved that her life had 
been so much drearier than the lives of other young 
girls. 

There was the usual number of passengers on the 
northern-bound train, but the slim young girl who 
boarded it at the cross-roads, robed in a plain, coarse 
brown d^ess, with simple jacket and cloth cap to match, 
did not attract special attention. 

The train moved slowly out from the station, and as 
the last lights of the village faded from her view in the 
thick blackness of night, Margaret bowed her fair head 
and wept like a child. 

A full realization of her position swept over her aching 
heart. She ^Vas face to face with the great, hard, cruel 
world, to battle with it for her daily bread, and she was 
going to that great metropolis that vshe had read of and 
dreaded so much. Yes, alone and unaided she was going 


168 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


to New York City — she, whose whole life had been spent 
on the quiet, peaceful old farm, and whose thoughts of 
life and the people in it were as pure and spotless as the 
white lilies in their native vales. 

Poor Margaret, it was well for her that she could not 
see what the future had in store for her. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

AK UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 

Aurelia was not an early riser, consequently it was 
not until a late hour the next morning that she discov- 
ered Margaret^s flight, and her amazement knew no 
bounds. She had never dreamed that — even driven to 
extremes — gentle, docile Margaret would have recourse 
to such a measure as this. 

Aurelia^s anger was great, as she read the letter hur- 
riedly through which she found pinned to the cushion on 
the little dresser. 

I am glad,^^ she exclaimed heartlessly, as she crushed 
it in her little pink palm, and flung it from her, ^^that 
she left me the money, anyhow. I don^t know what in 
the world I should have done without it.^^ 

The thought never troubled her as to what Margaret 
was to do without it; Aurelia^s flrst thought was always 
of self. 

She knew that she would be obliged to follow Mar- 
garet^s directions — board until she heard from her; and 
to tell the truth, this sort of lady^s life rather pleased 
her; she wished that Margaret would make enough to 
keep her boarding forever. 

A sorry time I shall have now with old Phelps,^^ she 
muttered. I do not know how I am to tell liim that 
Margaret has gone. Pll look over her letter again, and 
see what she has to say!^’ but a thorough search of the 
room failed to disclose the crumpled bit of paper. 

^^Now what in the world could I have done with it?^^ 
exclaimed Aurelia, greatly puzzled. I am sure that I 
flung it down on the dresser; but the question is, where 
is it now?’^ 

Aurelia made another search of the small apartment, 
with an equally fruitless result. 


169 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

The trul,h of the matter was, a passing sportive breeze 
had caught the wisp of paper up, and had carried it 
out of the window, depositing it directly at the feet of 
Silas Phelps, who was advancing rapidly up the gravel 
path. 

Hey, whaPs this?^^ he muttered, stooping to recover 
it. A letter, by all thaPs wonderful! 1 wonder if 
some of the young men of the village have been writing 
to Margaret and a sudden, jealous fire leaped up in his 
heart in an instant, burning as fiercely as if he were six- 
and-twenty, instead of over sixty. 

Adjusting his spectacles on his nose. Farmer Phelps 
smoothed out the crumpled page, and slowly, line by 
line, mastered its contents; and by the time he reached 
the end of the note, no words can describe the rage into 
which he had worked himself. 

‘^Gone! She has fled — to escape marrying meT^ he 
cried, grinding his teeth together in awful fury. ^^But 
I’ll show her and hers what it is to play fast and loose 
with Silas Phelps. Lord! Pm too old a man to be made 
a fool of by young women. There’s some trick behind 
this, and I know it. No doubt she’s in hiding some- 
where, and hopes to have me make the proposition that 
I’ll settle a cool hundred thousand or so on her if she’ll 
only come back. But I’ll do nothing of the kind — I’ll 
buy the affections of no young woman. Not me,” and, 
fuming with anger, he knocked heavily on the door of 
the farmhouse. 

Aurelia answered the summons, and a slight cry 
broke from her lips on seeing who stood on the thresh- 
old. 

Oh, it’s you, is it, Mr. Phelps? Please walk in and 
take a seat,” she said, trying to speak unconcernedly; 
adding: ‘‘1 suppose you come to see Margaret? I’m 
awfully sorry to say that you can’t see her just now.” 

Silas Phelps looked at the girl keenly. 

For answer, he walked deliberately up to the table 
and spread out Margaret’s letter before Aurelia’s con- 
fused eyes. 

I picked it up on the walk,” he said, harshly, and 
I read it, so don’t be trying that there game — tryin’ to 
make me believe your sister’s about the house when you 


170 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

know slie isn^t, and when you know, too, that she ran 
away rather than marry me/’ 

^MVell,^^ said Aurelia, with cool audacity that exas- 
perated Silas Phelps, ^"seeing you know all about it, 
there is no use in my denying that Margaret has gone, 
and to tell the truth,^^ she added to herself, I cannot 
blame her much/^ 

Low as this soliloquy was muttered, it reached the 
old man^s keen ears. 

Do you think Pm such an ogre your sister couldiPt 
love me? Hey?^^ he demanded, wrathily. 

Aurelia shrugged her shapely shoulders. 

I couldn^t answer for my sister as to what she might 
love — or whom,^^ she answered, demurely. 

Silas Phelps looked at her for an instant, then sud- 
denly a new idea came to him, his eyes brightened, and 
his withered old cheeks flushed. 

Say r’ he cried, eagerly. ^^Hev you ever heard of 
the old saw — that iPs an ill wind that blows nobody 
good? Now look here. Miss Lancaster, he continued, 
eagerly, what do you say to marrying the old chap yer 
sister threw over — hey?^^ 

A laugh that made the old rafters ring resounded 
through the farmhouse kitchen. Farmer Phelps’ face 
darkened as he heard it. 

^^Well,^^ he exclaimed, impatiently, ^Moyou say the 
word. Miss Lancaster? Pve sot my mind on a young 
and good-lookin^ wife, and Pm rich enough to get one — 
don’t you make any mistake about that.*” 

You^re awfully kind, and I thank you for the honor 
conferred, but really I must decline it all the same,’^ 
laughed Aurelia. You will have to look farther ,for a 
young wife, Mr. Phelps.” 

^^Pd be obleeged to know your objections. Miss Lan- 
caster,” he said, so tartly that Aurelia burst into another 
peal of laughter that angered him the more. 

Well, in the first place, when I marry, I don’t intend 
to marry a man old enough to have played lover to my 
grandmother. I have a penchant for a handsome face, 
raven-black locks — untouched by the frosts of time — for 
a curling mustache and a tall, slim, straight figure; and 
you see, Mr. Phelps, you don’t fill the bill in any partic- 


171 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

ain^t goin^ to give a woman my money and coax 
her ’into the bargain/^ he retorted, scarcely able to con- 
trol his rage. ‘"Til jest say this to yon. Miss Lancaster: 
Tm a-goin to take possession of this here place day 
after to-morrow. 1^11 expect you and your traps out by 
that time. You can beg or starve for all I care — so can 
your sister. I wouldn^t marry the one nor the other of 
you now if you got down on your knees to me. Good- 
morning, miss.^^ 

Aurelia bowed him out of her presence with a gay 
carelessness that stung him almost to madness. 

^^Fm not sorry to leave this dull old place, anyhow,^^^ 
muttered Aurelia. ‘^As much as I detest the quiet, hum- 
drum village, it will be a heaven to this place."^^ 

That afternoon, while Aurelia was busy packing her 
trunk, there was another heavy knock at the door. 

‘^IFs old Phelps again — coming back to press his suit, 
Pm sure,^^ she muttered, angrily. have half a mind 
not to answer the summons at all. Why, that old man^s 
an idiot to think any young woman in her senses would 
want to marry so many wrinkles and two hundred and 
sixty pounds of flesh. Ugh! it makes me sick to even 
think of it.'’^ 

The knocking was repeated louder this time, and ‘With 
a frown on her face, Aurelia ran down-stairs and flung 
open the door; but instead of seeing Farmer Phelps 
there, as she had expected, she was confronted by a 
tall, elderly gentleman with a decided military bearing. 

^^Have 1 the pleasure of seeing Miss Margaret Lan- 
caster?^’ he exclaimed, raising his hat courteously, and 
bowing low before this fair young vision of loveliness 
that greeted his eyes. 

^^Now, what in the world does he want with Mar- 
garet?’^ was the thought that flashed through her head. 

^^My business is of strict importance, and must be 
confided to her — and to her only!” the stranger de- 
clared. 

That last sentence settled the matter; her curiosity 
was aroused to such a pitch that she determined to find 
out his business with Margaret at any cost. What if she 
did use a little deception about the matter, who would 
know ? 

am Margaret Lancaster,” she said quietly, invit- 


172 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

ing the gentleman to enter, and placing a chair for 
him. 

You will permit me to introduce myself?’^ he said, 
taking the proffered seat. I am Mr. Harding, of the 
firm of Harding & White, of New York. We are law- 
yers, he added, with a smile, noting her look of wonder 
at this intelligence. 

Aurelia bowed, not knowing what to say, the thought 
fiashing through her brain: 

AVhat in the world could a New York lawyer want 
with Margaret 

I have strange news for you, my dear Miss Lancas- 
ter,^’ said Mr. Harding. will break it to you as 

gently as I can.” 

Aurelia wondered if it was something about Gerald 
Eomaine. 

Have no fear to speak unreservedly,” she said. I 
cannot endure suspense. I hope you will tell me what 
you have come here to say quickly,” she added, with all 
a young girl’s impulsiveness. 

I will begin by referring to our friend. Dr. Thorpe,” 
he commenced thoughtfully. ^^He was a friend of 
your family, and a particular friend of yours. Miss Lan- 
caster.” 

Yes,” said Aurelia, vaguely ruminating on what was 
coming next, and thinking that one word of assent the 
safest answer. 

When he took that trip to New York,” continued 
Mr. Harding, a strange premonition came to him that 
he would never return alive; so strong was this impres- 
sion in his mind that he called upon our firm one day, 
and requested me to draw up a will for him. 

^Life is uncertain, my dear Harding,’ he said. ^ We 
are alive and well to-day, and perhaps to-morrow we 
are called. I should not like the money I have toiled 
for to be spent ruthlessly. I know of but one to whom 
I would care to trust it; in her hands lam sure it would 
be used wisely. I am about to make a very important 
investment, and I have turned all my real estate, bonds, 
etc., into cash to meet that purpose. It may be a fort- 
night or more before I make any headway in this new 
enterprise, and as I said before, we can never tell what 
a day may bring forth. I desire to make a will. The 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. ITS 

total sum of my worldly effects is represented in the 
amount of seventy thousand dollars, which I intend to 
deposit in the bank to-day. It is dangerous to have so 
much as that in cash about one. But now in reference 
to the will. Draw it up in favor of Miss Margaret Lan- 
caster. I wish to bequeath all I have to her in case of 
my death. Draw it up in such a manner that all 
formalities of the law shall be waived, and that the 
amount in cash could be paid over to her without do- 
lay/^^ 


CHAPTEE XXXV. 

AM GOIKO TO LIVE LIKE A GRAKD LADY.-"^ 

Aurelia could scarcely repress a cry of consterna- 
tion that rose to her lips at this astounding information 
from the lawyer. She was too thoroughly dumfounded 
to utter one word if her very life had depended upon it. 

It seems, continued Mr. Harding, ‘^this course 
upon the part of Dr. Thorpe was a wise one indeed, for 
upon his way to bank the money upon his person — my 
partner accompanying him — the doctor dropped dead 
from heart disease. I have to say in conclusion that all 
preliminaries of establishing your identity has been gone 
through with, and, in accordance with the last request 
of the deceased, we hold ourselves in readiness to pay you 
over the money. 

‘‘1 add, as a matter of form only, that if you have any 
private papers or letters that we may put in conclusive 
evidence that you are the right party, I should like to 
examine them. As I said before, as a matter of form, 
my dear Miss Lancaster. 

With trembling feet Aurelia fled from the room and 
up to Margaret^s apartment. There were many books 
and souvenirs in the' little black cloth trunk — all bear- 
ing Margaret’s name. These she gathered up and took 
down to the lawyer. 

He examined them one by one attentively — even a 
locket bearing her dead mother’s face, with the words 
engraven on the case: ^^For my little Margaret. In her 
great hurry Margaret had entirely forgotten this locket, 
which she prized above all her earthly possessions. 

^^This is all straightforward enough — and the locket is 


174 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

proof positive in establishing your identity as Margaret 
Lancaster, my dear young lady/^ he said, adding quietly, 
as he saw that she was trembling with excitement: 
^^Sit down, please, and we will talk the matter calmly 
over. It is a great sum of money to be paid over in cash 
to so young a girl as yourself.^^ And he told himself in 
his own mind that Dr. Thorpe had certainly made a fatal 
mistake in so ordering. He might better have invested 
the principal wisely, and allowed her the interest. He 
concluded, however, that the doctor must have been 
madly in love with the dazzling beauty of the girl, and 
had lost his head and his usual good judgment along 
with it. Heaven grant that this girl might be capable 
of using the great wealth, so suddenly thrust upon her, 
judiciously — but he almost doubted it, being a keen 
judge of human nature — and he could see that the 
love of pomp and splendor was the ruling passion of 
her life. 

He had expected to see a plain, unassuming, modest 
young woman, dressed in the usual homely farm habili- 
ments, not a dainty, beautiful creature like this. 

For two hours or more Lawyer Harding sat in the best 
room of the old farmhouse, talking this sudden change 
of fortune over with Aurelia under the impression that 
she was Margaret. 

To her intense relief he had not heard the name of 
Aurelia even mentioned; and when she told him how he 
had come to her in the very time of her great need, now 
that Farmer Komaine and his good wife — her foster-par- 
ents — had but just passed away, and the farm was to fall 
into other hands on the morrow — he took in the situation 
of affairs as she presented them, at once, and sympathized 
with her deeply. 

Seeing the case is situated as it is, I should be 
greatly pleased if you would follow my suggestion. Miss 
Lancaster,^^ he said, earnestly. ^^Come with me to New 
York — to my house, and make your home with my wife 
and daughter until you settle definitely your plans for 
the future. You are too young to be cast upon the 
world, possessed of so much money, without proper 
guidance. Have you no relative living 

No,^’ replied Aurelia. 

I should suggest — even though you follow out my 


the EEAETIFUL COt^UETIE. 

suggestion of coming to New York with me, and to rny 
home — that you at once engage the services of some 
elderly lady as chaperon.'^ 

^'When do you go to New Yd^k?'' asked Aurelia 
faintly. 

I take the train within an hoiir/^ he;?aid consulting 
his watch, I am oUiged to go to attend to some iriv- 
portant cases I have in court to-morrow moriiing.'^^ 

Then I will accompany you,^^ declared Aurelia, the 
color coming and going fitfully on her face. 

Oh, if she could but keep with him, and ward ( " 
every possibility of his learning the horrible decepti 
about to be practiced upon him — keen and shrewd m 
of law though he was. 

Could you be ready in so short a time. Miss li 
caster?"^ he asked, aghast; ^^arrangements would h - 
to be made for delivering the key of the house to ' 
party who foreclosed the mortgage — the farm hands and 
servants 

There have been no farm hands here since Mrs. 
Eomaine died,’^ she broke in eagerly, and there is only 
the old servant that came until I could pack up rny 
things preparatory to going to the village."’^ 

^^Have you friends there?^^ he asked, quickly. 

was going there to try to get a place to teach in 
one of the village schools, or — or to be governess to little 
children.^’ 

She had wit enough to know that he would think weii 
of her if she told him that, and her shrewd surmise was 
quite correct. 

^^A more sensible young woman than I imagined,^^ was 
his mental comment. ‘‘1 usually judge people pretty 
accurately by my first impressions. I seem to have been 
in error this time however. 

Aurelia^s first impulse, when the lawyer had told her 
all, was to cry out: am not Margaret Lancaster, I 

am Aurelia, her sister, and then to tell him all; that 
Margaret had fled from the farmhouse only the night 
before, and why. 

With the next breath came the thought, if he should 
search for Margaret and find her, would she accept this 
great wealth the gods had flung at her feet? She knew 
Margaret well enough to doubt it. Margaret would never 


mE BEAVTIFXJl .. ^ 

touch a penny of it. Thorpe’s money should 

never have been left ^o me/’ she was sure Margaret 
would say, ^^let everj dollar of it go to^vard endowing a 
hvjspital. I would rather work for my money. I cannot 
accept this magnificent gift for myself.” 

Then suddenly as she sat there— the greatest tempta- 
tion of he2 young life had come to her — a temptation 
that made her faint and giddy. A still small voice had 
whispered in her ear, this man believes you to be Mar- 
garet Lancaster — why undeceive him? He has this vast 
all in cash to hand over to you. Take it. You 
poor you need wealth — poverty is so bitter. If 
d wealth you could travel abroad and meet Ean- 
c . Clavering again. 

i t last thought infiuenced her more than all the 

ji^urelia was not much over seventeen; girl -like, she 
looked only at the bright side of the picture, heedless of 
the darkness that lay beyond. 

True, a revulsion of conscience did come to her once — 
the good and bad angels had a bitter fight for a human 
heart. 

She could almost imagine that she would see Margaret 
standing at her bedside and whispering through the 
darkness of midnight: 

You are not what the world believes you — you are a 
miserable impostor who has stolen into your sister’s 
place — an usurper of my rights! No good can come of 
such a living lie — exposure must follow, sooner or 
lata*.” 

But the thought of the magnificent fortune, and the 
possibility of it slipping through her fingers, made the 
hot blood course like fire through her veins; it was the 
chance of a lifetime, the good fortune that knocked but 
once at a person’s door. 

Why should she allctw any scruple to interfere with 
such great prospective wealth? 

No one will ever find me out,” she muttered below 
her breath. I will take what the gods offer.” 

Aurelia ever afterward gave herself great credit for 
vvay in which she had managed that affair so clever- 
ly; e did not draw a safe breath until she was seated 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

in the train, and it was moving out from the village 
depot. 

It seemed to Mr. Harding the most foolhardy piece of 
business that had -ever passed through his hands — giving 
a young and inexperienced girl like this such an enor- 
mous sum in cash. 

He was greatly provoked that Dr. Thorpe had made 
such an extraordinary will, and that, against his better 
judgment, he was bound to obey this behest to the very 
letter. 

He saw but one way to mitigate this transaction, and 
that was to bring every influence to bear upon the girl 
to persuade her to invest it judiciously, and without de- 
lay. 

Aurelia acquiesced to all his plans — before he had 
handed over to her the checks for the amount speci- 
fied; but very soon after he began to understand that 
the girl had a will of her own, and a very strong one, 
too. 

I am very glad of your advice, Mr. Harding,^’ she 
said, leaning back in her cushioned seat and looking at 
him with two very black, sparkling eyes and flushed 
cheeks; but I have already decided upon what invest- 
ment I shall make first. Do you want to hear what that 
will be?"^ 

Mr. Harding declared that he would be delighted to 
hear, and would give her all the benefit of his experience, 
if she choose to take it. 

‘‘Well, then,^^ said Aurelia, with a gay laugh, “the 
first thing that I invest in will be a diamond necklace 
at TiffanyX and a pair of bracelets to match. I never 
had any money before to spend as I pleased, and now 
that I find myself suddenly rich, I am going to live like 
a grand lady.^^ 


CHAPTER X3^VI. 

MARGARET'S SAD E^TpERIEMCE. 

There was no heavier heart to be found the whole 
world over than the one which beat in Margaret Lancas- 
ter's bosom as she turned her face from all she loved in 
the world, and set out to meet bravely the mysteries of 
the dark future. 


178 THE BEAUTIEUL COQUETTE. 

Alone — penniless — thrown on her own resources in a 
cold, pitiless world. 

In all the experiences of life there are few terrors that 
can compare with this to a young and timid girl. When 
she reached the great city of New York, where should 
she go? Which way should she turn? 

On the train she bought a daily paper and eagerly 
turning to one of its advertising columns, sought to solve 
this question. 

Carefully and patiently she ran her eye down the col- 
umn of Boarders Wanted. 

This will do,^^ she sighed, reading the advertisement 
half aloud, which ran as follows: 

A widow lady would take a young girl as boarder 
while her daughter is absent for a few weeks. Money 
not so much of an object as companionship. Apply to 
Mrs. Hammond, No. — E. 12th Street.^’ 

There were many other desirable places, but this 
seemed to Margaret the most suitable. 

I could board with her at least two weeks, she 
ruminated, carefully counting over the few dollars she 
had left after paying her fare. must surely get some- 
thing to do in that time.^^ 

It was late in the forenoon when she reached the great 
metropolis, and, limited though her means was, Mar- 
garet was wise enough to take a cab. 

She knew it would have taken her hours and much 
patience otherwise, to have found her way through the 
streets of the great city. 

Her timid ring at the bell brought a small, colored 
maid. 

^^Yes, Mrs. Hammond was at home,^^ she said. 

Would the young lady please walk this way?^^ 

Margaret followed her up several flights of stairs, and 
at last the maid pushed open a door at the further end 
of the corridor, and Margaret found herself in a large, 
meagerly-furnished, dingy-room, and in the presence of 
Mrs. Hammond. 

It must be confessed that Margaret did not take 
kindly to the woman at first sight. She could not tell 
why. 

I suppose you came to see about boarding, dearie,^^ 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


179 


she said cajolingly, as she placed a chair for her visitor. 

Yes, madam/^ said Margaret. I am a stranger in 
New York, and I am here to find employment. I shall 
be obliged to board some place for a fortnight at least, 
and I thought — if I could board cheap enough — this is 
just the kind of place I should like.^^ 

^‘^How much did you expect to pay, dearie inquired 
Mrs. Hammond, blandly. 

I had no idea how much it is worth, replied Mar- 
garet, frankly; ^^but whatever you think is right I will 
pay — that is, if it comes within my means.^^ 

Would you mind telling me candidly about how 
much money you have with you, dearie murmured 
Mrs. Hammond. I would know then about how cheap 
I must board you."^^ 

I have just eighteen dollars in my purse, replied 
the unsuspicious girl, flushing confusedly as she modest- 
ly made the admission, and that must last me until I 
find employment, even though it should take me two or 
even three weeks. Do you think that out of the way?^^ 
faltered Margaret. 

‘^No, not at all,^^ returned Mrs. Hammond; ‘^1 am 
perfectly willing to take you for that amount, my dear. 
I think we shall get along famously. I think I can help 
you to just the very situation, too,^^ she went on, en- 
thusiastically — a companion to an heiress; the pay is 
excellent, and there is literally nothing to do.^^ 

Oh, I couldn’t take any one’s money for doing noth- 
ing,” declared Margaret, earnestly, indeed I could 
not.” 

What a straight-laced creature you are to be sure!” 
cried Mrs. Hammond, with a laugh that grated harshly 
on Margaret’s ears; ^^one would imagine you were a 
verdant country girl to hear you talk like that,” she 
cried, fairly shaking her fat sides with loud laughter. 

am from the country,” returned Margaret, proud- 
ly, ^^and there we give the fuU value in labor for money 
received.” 

Let me give you a little advice, my dear,” exclaimed 
Mrs. Hammond, still convulsed with laughter — ^^take 
all the money you can get, and do as little as you can; 
you will like the place, though, I feel sure. I will write 
you a line, and you can go and see for yourself if it 


180 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


suits you; you look tired — you have had a long journey, 
you say; I would advise you to lie down and rest a bit 
the first thing you do. You can go to this place in the 
afternoon. 

Margaret loas tired, and she was very grateful to Mrs. 
Hammond for her considerate thouglitfulness. 

This will be your room, my dear, she said, showing 
Margaret into a small apartment that opened out from 
the one in which they had been seated, and which looked 
certainly more desolate and gloomy, if such a thing were 
possible. 

Lie down and rest for an hour or so; then I will call 
you, and, after you have a cup of nice hot tea, you^ll be 
as fresh as a June rose.^^ 

It seemed to Margaret that, almost as soon as her 
tired head touched the pillow, she drifted off into 
dream-land. How long she slept she had no idea; she 
became suddenly conscious of a near presence, of being 
intently watched by a pair of steady, burning eyes, and 
she could distinctly feel short, stifled breathing on her 
cheek. 

Margaret opened her eyes with a startled cry. Her 
sensation had been quite correct — some one was bending 
over her; it was Mrs. Hammond. 

She drew back with a flushed, startled face. 

I only looked in to see how you were resting, dearie,^^ 
she said, confusedly; rest a little longer — Fll call you 
when lunch is ready 

In obedience Margaret closed her eyes again, and the 
next moment she was sensible of a sweet, subtile odor 
pervading the room; opening her eyes with an effort, she 
saw that Mrs, Hammond had placed a vase of flowers on 
a small table in the center of the room. 

Margaret told herself dreamily that she never remem- 
bered flowers to have that oppressive odor before; she 
could feel the weight of them on her brain, and once 
again, despite her efforts to collect her thoughts, she 
trailed off into a deep and dreamless sleep. Once again 
she could feel the subtile influence of some near presence 
about her, and a hand passed slowly and lightly over 
her face, but, try as hard as she could, she was power- 
less to arouse herself from the lethargy into which she 
had fallen. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


181 


Long hours dragged their slow lengths by; and when 
Margaret opened her eyes again it was night, and the 
moonlight was streaming in through the looped curtains 
of the window. 

^^Why, Mrs. Hammond must have forgotten all about 
calling me/^ she thought, in alarm, springing from the 
couch. But she found herself so dizzy she could hardly 
keep her feet, and her head ached terribly. 

I feel worse than I did before I lay down,^’ she 
thought. ^‘1 guess cities do not agree with me. I feel 
stifled. The air seems thick and heavy. 

Beaching for her dress, which she had removed, Mar- 
garet quickly donned it, and in doing so made, to her 
horror, the starting discovery that the pocket was 
turned wrong side out, and her porte-monnaie, in which 
she had had every cent she possessed in the wide world, 
was missing. 

Xo words can picture Margaret^s dismay, and wild 
grief, and what so terrible a loss meant to her. 

have been — robbed. Heaven pity meP^ she 
moaned, groping her way to the door, which she found 
ajar. 

Mrs. Hammond, she sobbed, making her way into 
the other apartment, and from thence into the hall. But 
no voice answered her — Mrs. Hammond was nowhere to 
be found. 

Margaret^s lamentation soon brought a gentleman 
and lady, from a lower flat, quickly to her side; and by 
dint of much questioning they gleaned, at length, the 
girTs story from her lips; and, as they listened, they 
looked at her with the profound esfc pity. 

Poor child! Poor childP^ repeated the gentleman in 
the deepest commiseration. You have been made the 
victim of one of the most outrageous swindles — the 
cruelest wrong that ever cried out for justice. In a city 
like New York knavery may exist under the very roof 
with us, and we be unaware of it. The floors of this 
house — all save the lower one, which we occupy — are let 
out, ready furnished, to tenants by the week — for the 
accommodation of the Avorking people hereabouts. The 
Avoman calling herself Mrs. Hammond, claiming that 
she was too poor to pay a Avhole week’s rent in ad\^ance, 
succeeded in obtaining these two rooms, paying for 


182 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

them by the day. She claimed to be looking for em- 
ployment. She took them only this morning. Virtually 
the case amounts to just this: The woman rented these 
rooms by the day with just such an object in view. You 
walked into her net an unsuspecting victim. She has 
taken your money and — skipped. She is one of the 
many New York sharpers who live on their wits. To- 
morrow she will be trying some new dodge in another 
part of the city. There^s little use in attempting to 
trace them — not one out of a thousand is ever brought 
to justice. You have learned the lesson — beware of 
New York sharpers — at a dear price, my poor girl.^^ 

Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do, what shall I 
do?^^ sobbed Margaret, hysterically. I do not know to 
whom I could turn in this dreadful hour."^^ 

You look like a pure, true young girl, my dear,’^ said 
the gentleman^s wife, touched to the heart by Margaret^s 
sorrow. You shall come down to my rooms and stay 
with me a week, and I will do all in my power to help 
you to employment.^^ 


CHAPTEE XXXVII. 

IK CEKTRAL PARK. 

Eikc>ikg a situation was not the easy task Margaret 
Lancaster had anticipated. She had answered every ad- 
vertisement in the daily papers, but everywhere it was 
the same — no one seemed to want her. How was she to 
know that in nine cases out of ten it was because she was 
so young and fair? 

One lady was more frank than the rest. 

woujd take you for a companion,^^ she said, ^^but 
you would be very unhappy here. My — my husband is 
too fond of young and beautiful faces, she added, with 
a flush and a long-drawn sigh. 

Margaret was far too innocent to understand the drift 
of the lady^s thoughts. 

^^And,^^ she continued, with a painful effort at a 
smile, I am obliged to take old and remarkably homely 
women for companions, and I usually find that their dis- 
position corresponds with their faces. I am sorry. Miss 
Lancaster, but I cannot engage you.'^^ 

Thus it was day after day, and in home after home 


188 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

thufc she visited, and the girrs heart was almost broken 
in consequence. 

On the morrow the week which her new kind friends 
had invited her to stay would be up, and Margaret told 
herself she must not remain another day an object of 
their charity. 

Walking the. streets to find something to do — home- 
less, penniless, God knows, and God alone knows how 
bitterly hard it is — no wonder many poor young girls 
have been driven to desperate measures when they found 
themselves in a strait like this. The world narrows 
down to a grave, and death seems the only way of es- 
cape. 

Margaret Lancaster was of a more patient, hopeful 
nature than most young girls, and the future was very 
dark and lowering, indeed, when she began to despair. 

The hour came all too soon when Margaret told her- 
self that she must not trespass on Mrs. Millards kindness 
any longer. 

‘^Have you a situation, then, at last, my dear?^^ said 
that lady, when the girl made known her intention of 
leaving her that afternoon; and it did not occur to her 
at the time that Margaret^s answer was evasive. 

When Margaret turned away from Mrs. Millards door 
she could hardly restrain the scalding tears that seemed 
determined to force themselves through her long curling 
lashes, fairly blinding her eyes. 

Only Heaven knows what will become of me now,^’ 
she sighed, adding, with a sob: ^^But I would die in 
that green park across the way before I would eat the 
bread of dependence for another meal. Surely the God 
that watches over the helpless little sparrows will not 
forget me. His child. 

Margaret was just about to cross to the opposite pave- 
ment, when the sudden shout from the driver of a pass- 
ing coach caused her to glance quickly up, and draw 
hastily back with a low cry. 

But it was not the driver^s surly words, YouM better 
look out where youh^e going the next time, young woman 
— you came within an ace of being run over.^^ It was 
not his words that caused Margaret to utter that startled 
cry — she never even heard them, her eyes were so in- 
tently riveted upon the occupant of the coach — a young 


184 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

and beautiful girl robed in silk and glittering witn costly 
diamonds that caught the sunlight and held it in myriad 
hues. But it was not even the magnificence of those 
wondrous jewels that held Margaret Lancaster spell- 
bound — it was the face that looked out at her from the 
coach window. 

^^Aurelia!^’ she cried, springing forward with clasped 
hands and amazed eyes; but, even while she uttered the 
name, the grand coach whirled on, its wheels flinging a 
cloud of dust over Margaret as it passed her by. 

^^Am I mad, or am I dreaming muttered Margaret, 
standing quite motionless on the cross-walk, and looking 
after the quickly disappearing vehicle. That was sure- 
ly Aurelia^s face — how could I make a mistake? There 
is no other face in this whole wide world so beautiful; 
and yet, how ridiculous to imagine for an instant that it 
could be she, in New York City, riding in a grand 
coach and dressed like a flne lady. No — no! at this 
moment she is far from me in that isolated little vil- 
lage nestling among the Virginia hills. Heaven bless 
her.^^ 

And, standing there in the cold street, homeless and 
penniless, noble-hearted Margaret thanked God that she 
had left seventy-five dollars with Aurelia. Even though 
she was suffering, she felt that Aurelia was provided 
for, and that thought brought her a world of comfort. 

Tired, desolate — ay, even hungry, Margaret slowly 
threaded her way over to the cool, green park, that in- 
vited rest, and sunk down, weak and faint, on one of the 
benches under a shade-tree, pondering over the wonder- 
ful resemblance of the beautiful, wealthy young lady m 
the coach to her far-off sister, Aurelia. 

Slowly tjie golden sun rode his blazing chariot through 
the blue sky, and sunk at last out of sight in the western 
distance. 

The dusk crept up and settled into the deeper darkness 
of night. One by one the stars came out and fixed them- 
selves in the night sky. A young moon rose and hung 
like a slender, crescent jewel in the Armament, shedding 
a pale, soft light over the waving trees and the sleeping 
flowers below. 

Still Margaret sat under the trees. 

Great throngs passed her by — hurrying men and 


185 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

women, and loitering lovers, and more than one looked 
at the white-faced girl sitting so listlessly on the bench, 
who was gazing intently into vacancy, and more than 
one wondered if she were ill. 

But in the great metropolis sorrow and desolation 
abounds on every hand — people look with pity on un- 
fortunates — and hurry on. 

A policeman, in pacing his beat to and fro, had noticed 
Margaret when she had first entered the park and sunk 
down so wearily on the first seat she had come to. 

As hour after hour passed by, and she still lingered, 
even after the night had fallen darkly around her, he be- 
gan to think of the' advisability of stopping to speak 
with her. 

He had always been gruff enough in ordering loiter- 
ers to move on; but somehow he could not bring him- 
self to give the usual order to the pale, silent young 
girl. 

But, when nine o^clock rung out from the brazen 
throat of an adjacent belfry, he realized that the duty 
must be done, sooner or later. 

He stopped before her, but she did not see him; 
she was not even aware of his presence until he laid 
his rough hand kindly on her shoulder, and asked 
quietly: 

What are you doing in the park so late, lass? It 
just struck nine; you have been here long hours. 

Long hours repeated Margaret, wonderingly. I — 

I— took no heed of time.^’ 

You have been here since noon, my girl. I am sorry 
to have to say it, but you must be moving on, you 
know.^^ 

She raised her white, despairing face, with the night 
dew lying on it, entreatingly to his. 

I am doing no harm,^^ she answered, piteously, 

please, let me stay here, I Oh, Heaven help me, I 

have no where to go/^ 

^^Have you no home — no friends — or money, miss?^’ 
he asked, and his voice was husky with deep pity. 

answered Margaret, with a sob, neither 
friends, home, or money. I came to NeW York to find 
employment, but I have been unsuccessful, though I 
have searched every day; and now I am in despair. I sat 


186 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


do\vn here to think what I should do next, but somehow 
no thoughts would come to me; my senses seemed to 
wander so — I quite think that I must have slept — I im- 
gined I was back in the old farmhouse where 1 spent so 

many happy years, and that Ger She stopped 

suddenly, as she saw the man wipe away tears from his 
eyes with his great rough hand. 

^^Are you crying because you are sorry for me?^^ 
asked Margaret, in wonder. 

The officer recovered his composure by a great eifort. 

Yes, I am sorry for you, miss,^^ he replied, more 
sorry for you than you can imagine. Shall I tell you 
why?’^ 

Yes,^^ returned Margaret, dreamily, ^^if you like.-’^ 

For a moment the great, burly policeman was silent, 
then he turned slowly from Margaret, saying, huskily: 

I know just how to pity you, my lass, because a young 
girl, with just such a story as yours, changed the whole 
current of my life not many years ago. It happened in 
this way: 

^‘1 was down at the Battery then; I went on duty at 
six in the evening, patrolling the river-front until six the 
next morning. 

One evening a young girl came to the park, and like 
you, sat motionless on one of the benches for long hours. 
I thought she could not be one of the emigrants from 
Castle Garden; there was something about her too 
genteel-like for that. 

By eleven o’clock the crowds that usually congregate 
about the place on a summer’s night, had gradually dis- 
persed; still the young girl made no move to quit the 
place, and my curiosity was aroused by the furtive 
glances she began to take at last on all sides of her. I 
drew back in the shadow of the trees and watched her. 

^^At length, observing no one for the moment in 
sight, she crept quickly up to the river-brink, and 
peered down into the waters; and, Ave policemen know 
too well what that means, and with a little heart-broken 
cry that would have pierced your very soul to have 
heard, she made a leap down into the dark waves. But, 
thanks be to Heaven, she never reached them, I was too 
quick for her; in the very nick of lime I caught her, 
and drew her back to the world she was so bent upon 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 187 ’ 

leaving, and though the poor thing struggled desperate- 
ly to free herself from my clasp, I held her fast in my 
grasp/^ 


CHAPTEE XXXVIII. 

GEKALD ROMAIKE'S RETURIT. 

The officer paused a moment in his story, and then 
continued: 

^ What were you about to do, child I cried, in hor- 
ror — for she was little more than a child in years. ^ Is 
life so hard with you that you rush headlong to destroy 
it?^ 

^ Let me go!^ she sobbed. ‘Yes, life is so hard and 
bitter I want to die. Why were you so cruel as to bring 
me back to a hard and pitiless world, that I was so anx- 
ious to escape from?^ 

^ Why is life so bitter with you?^ I asked. ^ Won’t 
you tell me, my poor girl?’ And as I spoke, I drew her 
further and further away from the deadly brink of the 
treacherous water. 

^ Yes, I will tell you — why I should not?’ she sobbed, 
dropping down on the bench again, and weeping as 
though her heart would break. ^ I am starving — yes, 
starving! Does that shock you — that a human being 
should starve in a land of plenty? — in a great city, where 
women spend fortunes on senseless roses, and in glitter- 
ing diamonds, and on every extravagant thing they see? 
I tried to get work in the mills — but everywhere it was 
the same old story, they had all the hands they wanted. 
So what could an honest girl do then but get out of a 
world that had no place in it for her to earn her bread? 
Why suffer the pangs of hunger another hour, when one 
leap, and a moment’s struggle would bring me relief? 
When God takes from the little sparrows the means of 
getting food, what wonder that they lay their little breasts 
down on the frozen snowdrifts — to die? Why should 
not God’s children 'seek death, too, rather than endure 
starvation’s pangs?’ 

I could never tell you, miss, the feeling that shot 
through my heart as I listened. All in an instant a 
strange thought took possession of me, and held me in 


1S8 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

thrall as completely as though it had grown into my 
heart by slow degrees for long years. 

^ Do not be surprised at what I am going to say to 
you, miss/ I said, very quietly. ^ I know it is very sud- 
den-like, but I mean it from the very depths of my heart 
—marry me, and I will take you home with me at once. 
I will try and make you so happy that you will forget 
that there is such a thing in the world as hunger.^ 

You — really mean it?^ she asked, in wonder. 

^ YesT I replied, huskily. 

^MVell, to make a long story short, she married me, 
God bless her, and she never had cause to regret it. All 
day long she goes singing about my house, as blithe as a 
bird. When I get home from duty, she is always watch- 
ing for me at the window, and runs to me and welcomes 
me with a kiss. 

I have never told a human being save yourself, miss, 
that I married her from the street, so to speak, and, like 
herself, I have never regretted it, and we live a happy 
life. 

^^Now you can see why it touches me so deeply to 
hear a young girl say she has been walking the streets 
searching for work, and can find nothing to do. I al- 
ways remember my Nelly. 

^^Now I will tell you what Fll do, miss,’^ he went on 
energetically, ^^Fll take you home along with me, and 
Nelly will cheer you up: a few hours with her will put 
new life into you, and new spirits.^’ 

But Margaret drew back. 

You are very kind,^^ she said, huskily, ^‘but I can- 
not be a burden on you; I ” 

The sentence was never finished; with a low cry Mar- 
garet had fallen at his feet in a deep swoon. 

In an instant he had raised her in his stalwart arms. 
It was very fortunate that Dr. Briscoe was passing just 
at that moment. 

The officer called to him lustily. The doctor took in 
the situation at a glance — quite before the policeman had 
time to explain it. 

^^It will be a bad case of brain-fever; you had better 
take her to the hospital across the wa.y,^^ he declared. 

This suggestion was carried out; and when morning 
broke, the golden sunshine streamed in upon a flushed 


The beautiful coquette. isu 

face, tossing restlessly to and fro upon the white pillow, 
and upon two blue, feverish eyes, in which the light of 
reason had flickered out. 

Joy and sorrow alike mattered little enough to Mar- 
garet Lancaster now. She had been stricken with a dan- 
gerous fever. 

Of course we must hope for the best,^^ said Dr. Bris- 
coe to the nurse, when he looked into the ward for a few 
brief moments; ^^but it^s a very dangerous case. If the 
girl ever leaves that bed alive, it Avill be a miracle.*^^ 

Poor young thingP said the nurse, bending pitying- 
ly over Margaret; she is so young to die!^^ 

As Dr. Briscoe ran hurriedl/ down the hospital steps 
to the pavement, the crowd jostled him roughly against 
a gentleman who was passing. 

Both turned to apologize for the seeming rudeness, 
and the next instant both had sprung toward each other 
with extended hands, exclaiming, in pleased surprise: 

^^Dr. Briscoe 

Why, as I live,^^ cried the doctor, if itisn^t my old 
school chum, Gerald Eomaine! 

Why, Gerald, old boy,^^ he continued, wringing the 
othePs hand, bless me, I heard only the other day that 
you were out in Egypt, Brazil, the Sandwich Islands, or 
some equally out-of-the-world place. Did you dropdown 
suddenly from the clouds Jules Ve]*ne fashion 

I have been to Brazil; I returned only last week,^^ 
said Gerald. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

WILL NEVER FORGIVE HIM FOR THOSE WORDS. 

Come down to the club and dine with me, my dear 
boy cried the doctor, delightedly, adding: ^^There^s 
not a fellow living that I would care more to see than 
yourself. Come, let us talk over old timesT^ 

And nothing loath, Gerald accepted the invitation. 

This evening I have cards for a grand reception, to 
be held at one of the swell houses on Fifth Avenue — 
would you like to accompany rne?^^ asked Dr. Briscoe, as 
he and Gerald sat over their wine and walnuts a little 
later. ^^The host is a very clever fellow,^^ he went on; 
^^and his bride, to use one of the old college phrases, ^ is 


190 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

just stunning/ She is called the prettiest woman in 
^^ew York. Clavering is a lucky dog, to have found such 
a rara avis; but come, and you shall see for yourself. 
Their receptions are occasions to be remembered. You 
are sure to meet the best people of New York at them.^^ 
What did I understand you to say the gentleman^s 
name was?^^ asked Gerald, setting down his glass with 
an unsteady hand — his lips paling under hi^s fair mus- 
tache. 

Clavering — Eandolph Clavering, responded the 
doctor briskly. Do you know him? — a capital fellow.*’’ 
No,” said Gerald, we have never met. I — I — thank 
you for the invitation, Briscoe, but I cannot accompany 
you to-night. 1 have made a previous appointment to 
see a man at my hotel on business to-night.” 

Sorry,” returned Briscoe. But by the way, is it 
true, Gerald, that you have made the fabulous stakes 
down in Brazil that the papers credit you with?” 

Yes,” said Gerald, wearily. I have been fortunate 
beyond my wildest expectations, but fortune has come 
— to me — too late.” 

^^Why, what do you mean, Romaine, old fellow? I 
never knew you to talk like that. What’s come over 
you?” 

I am alone in the world, with no one to share my 
fortune with now,” returnedGerald. To be brief, you 
know I went down there on a hazardous speculation with 
my patents. A poor man has nothing to lose, you know. 
For long months I was too discouraged with the pros- 
pects to write home and tell them of failure after failure. 
Suddenly my patent for sinking shafts was applied, and 
from that moment my success was assured. All my 
other patents were brought into demand on railroads 
and in the mines, and from the direst poverty I sudden- 
ly awoke to find myself a rich man. I invested largely 
in mines, and quadrupled my fortune in no time. As 
soon as I could put my business into shape to leave it, I 
took a fiying trip home, intending to take the old folks 

back with me, and — and ” 

A wife,” cut in Dr. Briscoe, with a sly little laugh. 
And two who had been like sisters in the family,” 
continued Gerald. But mark what follows. On my 
return to the little village where I had lived — or rather 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


191 


on a farm near it — I found within the year both father 
and mother had passed away — the farm had been seized 
to satisfy a petty mortgage — and the two girls I speak 
of, who had lived in our family for years, liadgone, none 
knew whither. They did not even leave aline behind by 
which I might trace them. I think I know now what 
has become of them,^^ he added, bitterly. ^^One has 
married the wealthy man of her choice, and has taken 
her sister home to live with her. As I said before, my 
wealth has come to me too late.^^ 

Gerald Romaine paced his room at the hotel for long 
hours that night. 

From this time on, Aurelia shall never live another 
hour in my thoughts, now that she is Randolph Claver- 
ing^s wife, he ruminated. She never loved me. 

‘‘ ‘ What care I how fair she be 
If she be not fair to me?’ ” 

And once again in his sorrowful meditations — and for 
the second time -in his life — his mind reverted to Mar- 
garet — the fair, patient, gentle girl who had loved him 
with so true a love, when he was only poor Gerald Ro- 
maine, the farmers son, toiling late and early over his 
hopeless inventions. 

He wondered vaguely if, during his long absence, gen- 
tle Margaret had met any one else whom she had learned 
to love. 

He thought not. Margaret was a girl to love but once 
in a lifetime. 

And, somehow, that thought brought Gerald Romaine 
great comfort. 

When Aurelia — for it was indeed she — had looked 
from tlie coach-window and found herself face to face 
with Margaret, her fear of being recognized by her sis- 
ter was so great that she nearly screamed aloud in her 
terror. 

Drive on quick, John,^’ she cried, hoarsely, as soon 
as she could find her voice, ^^turn the nearest corner, 
then straight ahead as fast as you can go.'^^ 

Although she strained her ears to listen, as the coach 
clattered over the pavement, she did not hear Avhat she 
had expected to hear, Margaret^s voice calling, ‘^Aure- 
lia! Aurelia!^’ 


192 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

is possible that she did not recognize me/^ mut- 
tered the heartless girl, leaning back among the soft 
velvet cushions and breathing freer. ‘‘Dear me, what 
a narrow escape I have had. I wonder what Margaret 
was doing near the park. I shall never dare ride in that 
vicinity again in anything like peace. 

By the time Aurelia reached the home of Mr. Hard- 
ing, the lawyer, where she was stopping, she had quite 
regained the roses that had vanished from her cheeks 
with her fright. 

“Ah, here you are, Margaret,^^ said Alice Harding. 
“I have been looking everywhere for you; I did not 
know you were out riding. The last mail brought us 
quite a number of invitations to different social affairs; 
I want you to come and help me decide as to which one 
out of three you would care most to accept for next 
Wednesday evening. There’s ^musicale at Miss Kobin- 
son’s down the avenue, a theater party to see Coquelin, 
and a reception at Mrs. Thornby’s, in honor of her sister, 
who but recently married young Mr. Clavering, of 
Virginia. 

“Mr. — who!” cried Aurelia, hoarsely. 

“Mr. Kandolph Olavering,” repeated Miss Alice, 
serenely, adding — “do you know him?” 

“ I — I — met him once,” stammered Aurelia. 

She did not utter a cry or a moan when she reached 
her own room. It seemed to her that her heart had 
turned suddenly to stone, and was incapable of any emo- 
tion. Eandolph Clavering — married; another woman 
called him — husband! The pain of it was so bitter she 
could not realize it. It almost seemed to her that she 
should wake up and find it some horrible dream. 

“If he could give me up so easily, without one pang, 
he never loved me,” she cried, clinching her hands to- 
gether bitterly. 

Cold and soulless as Aurelia Lancaster was, she had 
loved this man with all the deep absorbing love her shal- 
low nature was capable of, and her soul was cut to the 
quick by his marriage with another. 

At first she thought death would be easier to bear 
than meeting him again under such conditions, but after 
awhile she grew calmer. 

“ I — I — will go to Mrs. Thornby’s,” she told herself 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


193 


lit length with a wild, hysterical laugh. I — I — will show 
him that I do not care; no, I do not care. It will be 
better to get the meeting over first as last. I — I — can 
nerve myself to the occasion.'’^ 

It was pitiful to see how anxious Aurelia was when 
that eventful Wednesday evening rolled around. 

Felice,^^she said to her little French maid, ^^I want 
you to make me as beautiful as a dream to-night. 

Oui, mademoiselle,’^ answered the girl, adding as 
she looked admiringly on the fiushed face of her young 
mistress: That will not be hard to do.’^ 

At last the task was accomplished, and it teas a task, 
for Aurelia was so hard to please. 

Nothing could have been more perfect than the white 
lace dress that fell in graceful folds about the Diana- 
like, slender figure. 

The white neck and bare arms shone through it like 
polished marble, and the neck and beautiful head rose 
out of it like a perfect flower. 

Dark passion roses nestled amid the white lace on her 
breast, and one small bud was twined among the dark 
brown curls that lay on the white forehead. 

The brown eyes that looked back at her from the long 
French mirror glowed like stars unnaturally brilliant. 

The beautiful mouth and dimpled cheeks were as red 
as the crimson heart of the roses on her breast. 

Aurelia drew a long, sobbing breath. 

Of what avail was her beauty now? She had lost the 
love of the one man on earth whom she cared for. 

Will I do, Felice?’^ she asked wearily. 

Do!” cried the French girl, enraptured. Oh, made- 
moiselle, you look like an angel.” 

A harsh laugh fell from those lips so like crimson 
flowers. 

I feel like a veritable d — 1!” she cried. ^^Felice” — 
and she turned to the girl sharply — there is something 
I want you to do for me — something I want you to get, 
but no one must ever know about it.” 

Felice declared that she was willing to lay down her 
life in mademoiselle’s service; she could be silent as the 
grave on any subject her young mistress wished her to 
keep secret. 

I think I can trust you. You are a shrewd girl. 


194 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

Felice. When I explain to you what I want, you will 
know exactly the name for it, and where to get it. 

once read a strange story, and it impressed me 
greatly; it was of a woman whose husband had left her, 
and of course she had to get a divorce from him, and not 
long after there was to be a reception, and after she had 
sent her acceptance, she heard that he was coming there 
with a bride. 

She knew this would be a sweet morsel for her dear 
five hundred friends to see the meeting between the de- 
serted wife and the haughty young bride; but she told 
herself that though her heart should break there, and 
the blood leave it drop by drop, she would face the or- 
deal, and she did face it, Felice. She arrayed herself 
in the dress her husband had loved best to see her in in 
the old days, and went to the reception. 

Those Avho knew her looked at her in wonder. They 
had never seen her eyes so bright and sparkling, her 
cheeks and lips so fiushed. The keenness of her wit, her 
ready repartee and gay, jolly laugh was the talk of the 
room. 

She clasped the white hand of the woman who had 
taken her husband’s love from her — her own never 
trembling — and leaned over and Jaid a passionate kiss 
on the bride’s pouting lips; but she did that because she 
knew, poor soul, full w^ell whose lips would take that 
kiss from them, Felice. 

^^She met her husband’s eyes bent searchingly upon 
her, and man-like, he was chagrined that his appar- 
ent empire over her heart was over, for he could not 
read in that happy face one regret; he could not imagine 
that those brilliant eyes had shed one tear for him. 

At last the miserable farce was over, and, smiling to 
the very last, she was driven away in her carriage. That 
night, in disrobing her, her maid saw a tiny vial fall 
from her bosom to the floor. 

^ Oh, madam, is it poison!’ she gasped in horror. 

A sigh that was more of a sob fell from the lady’s* 

lips. 

^No,’ she said; ^it is a powerful French drug, my 
dear — a drug that, while its influence lasted, raised my 
spirits up to the height of heaven; made me forget 
heart-pain and all my weary woe; sharpened my intel- 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 195 

lect, ^o.ve me brilliant forays of imagination^ and pur- 
chased that for which I would have given my soul — hap- 
piness, even in the face of all I had been called upon to 
endure — a draught from the waters of Lethe/ 

I want to get some of the same thing, Felice,’^ con- 
tinued Aurelia, eagerly; can you get it for me at any 
price You are very clever, Felice; you must get it — 
somewhere/^ 

^‘1 think I know what you want, mademoiselle,^^ 
nodded the girl. will try and get it.-^^ 

No one who ever saw Aurelia Lancaster that night 
ever forgot her in her brilliant young beauty. She liter- 
ally carried the men and women, gathered at the recep- 
tion, by storm. 

The little bride, who had heard her husband^s honest 
confession about Aurelia, grew pale to the lips when she 
saw her glorious rival, and she shrank closer to her 
young husband^s side. 

^^Oh, Kandolph!^^ she cried, piteously, stealing her lit- 
tle, cold, white, trembling hand into his, the great tears 
hanging on her lashes, ^Miow could you ever have mar- 
ried me, after knowing and loving a gloriously beautiful 
woman like that?’^ 

Eandolph Clavering pressed the little rose-leaf of a 
hand reassuringly. 

Do not think of it, Dora, my darling/^ he whispered. 

My love for Miss Lancaster is a thing of the past; now 
I love only you, dear. Try to believe me, and be happy 
and trustful and contented in your husband^s perfect 
love. The love of the glaring sunlight for some men — 
I love best the little lonely star that other eyes are not 
gazing upon.” 

He did not see the palm-leaves near him quiver; 
neither of them knew that this loving colloquy had been 
overheard by the tall, queenly girl, who had' stolen there 
for a momen/s rest, and to take another draught from 
a tiny vial hidden in her bosom. 

Eandolph Clavering and his young wife passed from 
the conservatory; then the leaves of the palm-trees were 
parted by a white hand, and Aurelia Lancaster looked 
after them with a face white as death. 

I will never forgive him for those words,” she rnut- 


196 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

tered. I shall make him rue the day he uttered them, 
so help me Heaven 


CHAPTER XL. 

THE HEIRESS OF LAJSTCASTER. 

Among the many gentlemen present was one who had 
never taken his eyes from Aurelia’s face from the first 
moment she had entered the room. 

He crossed over quickly to his hostess. 

My dear madame,” he said, who is the charming 
mademoiselle in the white lace dress over by the jardi- 
niere yonder? 1 should like so much to be presented to 
her.” 

Half the gentlemen in the room have come to me 
within the last half hour that Miss Lancaster has been 
here, with the same request,” laughed Mrs. Thornby, 
good humoredly. She is quite an ingenue,^’ she de- 
clared; she has no idea of the sensation she is creating 
— quite 2 ^ furor — but then I do not wonder at it, she is a 
gloriously beautiful girl. Come with me. Count Lorenzo 
— we must make our opportunity to claim the beauty’s 
attention.” 

The next moment they were standing before Aurelia. 

Something in the glance of this handsome foreigner’s 
dark, magnetic eyes made her shiver as she acknowl- 
edged the introduction, and the next instant Aurelia 
found herself alone with him. 

Will you come and have an ice. Miss Lancaster?” he 
asked, proffering his arm. 

No,” replied Aurelia; ^^you are very kind, I thank 
you; but I prefer not just now.” 

‘‘1 insist!” he whispered in her ear. ^^Do you hear 
me, I — insist, I say. Do not make a scene; come to the 
conservatory with me; 1 have something to say to you.” 

Something in the man’s peremptory manner checked 
her anger and amazement — holding her fairly spell- 
bound; and, before she could find her voice to reply to 
this astonishing impertinence, the count had drawn her 
kidded hand through his arm, and was drawing her 
forcibly toward the conservatory. 

Placing her on a seat near the fountain, he stood be- 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 197 

fore her^ gazing intently down into her beautiful, angry 
face. 

May I ask the meaning of this extraordinary con- 
duct, sir?^^ cried Aurelia, scorning the proffered seat, and 
springing to her feet, she faced him, white with sup- 
pressed wrath. 

Pray be calm,^^ returned the count. ‘‘1 cannot en- 
dure to see you in a passion like that, for you remind me 
too forcibly of your mother. 

And, as he uttered the words, a very disagreeable 
smile curved his dark mustached lips; but the effect they 
produced upon Aurelia was startling. 

You — you knew my mother?^^ she asked, gazing at 
him with wondering, dilated eyes. 

^^So I said,^^he replied, with a shrug of his shoulders. 
^^It is of her, and of yourself, that I brought you hereto 
speak. I have searched the world over to find you, and 
to-night I am at last successful. At the first glance I 
had of you, I knew I stood face to face with Aurelia 
Lancaster's daughter — an infant when I last held you in 
my arms — but now grown to womanhood.^’ 

Will you tell me who you are?^^ gasped the girl, a 
strange, unfathomable chill creeping about her heart. 

Does not your own instinct tell you that, girlP^Mie 

said. 

she panted, recoiling from him. Tell me at 
once, in Heaven^s name, who you are and how you came 
to know my mother 

am your father, AureliaT^ he replied, quietly, ^^and 
the husband of beautiful, faithless Aurelia Lancaster, 
who fied from me eighteen years ago. 

^^If you would hear the story of who and what you 
are, listen. 

It is best that you should know. I am a desperate 
man, but, bad as I am, 1 am your father. I compel your 
obedience, though I may not, when I have finished, com- 
mand your respect.^^ 

I do not believe that you are my father,^^ cried Au- 
relia, vehemently. You are not what I have dreamed 
he was like.^^ 

You will find when you are my age that dreams and 
realities are widely different, he said, grimly. I will 
simply state, to save time in argument, that I have con- 


198 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

elusive proofs — I always carry them about me. Here is 
your mother’s picture/’ he said, touching a miniature 
locket he wore attached to his vest-chain. 

The golden lid flew back, and the face that looked up 
from the ivory was so like Aurelia’s own, that the mir- 
ror had shown her over and over again, that she fairly 
held her breath. Beneath the face was the name Au- 
relia and the year 18 — , which showed that the portrait 
must have been taken some score of years or more ago. 

One by one the girl examined the proofs he offered. 
Yes, beyond a doubt this man was her father, otherwise 
they would never have been in his possession. 

Now for a resume of that past,” he said, grimly. 

^^To begin with, and to state facts as briefly as possi- 
ble, 1 will say I married your mother for her beauty, and 
she married me for — position. 

There was one secret of my past life that I had 
thought to keep from her. Two years before I married 
your mother I met and loved another — a fair-haired vil- 
lage maid whom I wooed and won and made my wife. 
To my lovely Margaret I gave all the love that there was 
in my flckle heart to ever give. When my parents heard 
of my marriage to my simple, timid Margaret, they used 
every means to separate us, and — alas! how shall I own 
it? — they influenced me at last to desert her. My Mar- 
garet faded like a lily; she loved me too well to exist 
without me, she wrote me. I would have returned to 
her, for there was a still more urgent reason that I should 
do so. Margaret wrote me in the letter about our little 
daughter, but my relentless parents held me back. Mar- 
garet pined away, and they laid her beneath the daisies 
on the green sloping hillside that we had roamed over so 
often in those happy days when Margaret was my 
bride. 

My parents put the child — little Margaret — in the 
humble family of an old nurse. No one knew of my 
marriage, and the affair was hushed up. They soon 
picked out another bride for me, and as her beauty in- 
fatuated me, I married her, thinking to keep the story 
of the past a secret — a secret from her forever. 

A year later you were born, and all the love of the 
mother was withdrawn from me and centered in you, her 
child, for whom she had great hopes. The chief ambi- 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


199 


tion of her life was to live to see the day that you should 
reign as heiress of the house of Lancaster. This sudden- 
ly brought me to my senses. You could never reign as 
that I well knew, because of Margaret^s babe. But I 
dreaded breaking the news to her. I knew her fiery tem- 
per so well, and this intelligence w^ould fairly take the 
heart from her body. 

‘ ^ One day I was stricken ill almost unto death; in that 
hour I knew I must make restitution of her rights to 
Margaret^s little child. Then the whole truth came out; 
I sent for baby Margaret, the heiress of the house of 
Lancaster. 

They said Aurelia, my young w'ife, raved like a ver- 
itable maniac; I have read in the traditions of the house 
of Lancaster that upon the dark-eyed daughters a curse 
rests — heavy and deep; and the curse had fallen on my 
little Aurelia, whom I would have saved with my life. 

While I lay ill unto death, she made me promise that 
the world should never know that the child was not the 
heiress of Lancaster until the day that you were of age. 
I think,'^ he continued reflectively, that she must have 
had the thought in her mind that Margaret’s babe would 
never live to claim her inheritance, when I told her how 
frail were both mother and child, and then you, her idol- 
ized little Aurelia, would be heiress to all the broad do- 
mains of the Lancasters. 

^^From the hour I gave my wife that solemn promise, 
ill as I was, I noticed a sudden change in her. Night and 
day she seemed to be brooding over something she had 
on her mind. I found out what it was all too soon. 

‘‘ On the day that I rose from my sick-bed, they broke 
the intelligence to me that Aurelia had fled, taking with 
her her little child, and — Margaret’s babe. 

From that day to this I have searched for her, never 
finding trace of her until to-night. Now I ask this: 
Where is your mother, and where is Margaret, my child?” 

My mother is beyond all reach of your anger or re- 
venge,” said the girl slowly. She is dead! I can take 
you to her grave.” 

And my little Margaret?” he asked hoarsely. My 
Margaret’s child, who is now the heiress of Lancaster 
Manor?” 

You might as well search for a grain of sand on the 


200 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


seashore — a blade of waving grass on the hill side^ as to 
look for Margaret/^ 

^^Is she dead, too?’^ he asked hoarsely. 

And quick as thought, Aurelia answered: 

Yes.^^ 

A sigh broke from her father’s lips. It never occurred 
to him to doubt her. 

Then, in that case, you, Aurelia, are the heiress to 
Lancaster Manor, one of the finest estates in England,” 
he said; but tell me the story of your life, from first to 
last. How you came to be living in luxury like this?” 

She gave him the story in detail truthfully enough, 
until she came to the episode of Margaret’s departure 
from the farm. She gave her father to understand that 
Margaret had died at this period, and that the money 
Dr. Thorpe had so strangely bequeathed, had been left 
to herself, instead of Margaret. 

Yours has been a strange, eventful experience, 
child,” he said, when she had concluded; but hence- 
forth you shall know no more sorrow, your path will be 
one of roses.” 


CHAPTER XLI. 

THE LION OF THE HOUR. 

A GUILTY flush swept over Aurelia’s face, leaving it as 
white as her dress. 

He noticed it. 

The excitement of this interview is too much for you, 
my dear,” he said, in alarm. Let me get you a glass 
of wine — an ice — something. You are trembling, too.” 

You may get me a glass of wine, papa, if you will,” 
she said. 

And leaving her there he hastened on his mission. 

It was during his absence that Randolph Clavering and 
his young bride passed through the conservatory, and 
Aurelia heard the conversation between them related in 
a previous chapter. 

When her father returned he found her standing, 
leaning heavily against one of the slender palm-trees, 
with an expression on her face that he never afterward 
forgot. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 201 

Are you going to claim me as your daughter, papa/^ 
slie asked — now — to-night?^^ 

have been thinking over the matter/’ he returned 
slowly, ^^and have concluded that it would be unwise, 
for the reason that it would but revive the old scandal 
of my wife Aurelia^s flight long years ago. I am travel- 
ing in this country under the name of Count Lorenzo. 
No, you can make your arrangements quietly, and at 
once, to go to England. I will cross on the same steam- 
er with you, and when you reach your native shores you 
must take your rightful place in the world at once. Do 
these arrangements meet with your approval?’’ 

Entirely,” declared Aurelia, her eyes brightening. 

Next to love, revenge is sweet,” some writer has 
said, and Aurelia found it extremely pleasant to imagine 
Kandolph Clavering’s surprise, and his chagrin in not 
having secured her, when he found her the petted, court- 
ed heiress of some great English estate. 

Excitement was to Aurelia the wine of life. 

She even found herself forgetting Randolph Clavering, 
in weaving golden day dreams of the rosy future. 

She would find plenty of adoring lovers over there. 
Why, there would be lords, earls, perhaps even dukes, 
for her to choose from. 

^^How lucky it was that I claimed old Dr. Thorpe’s 
money instead of turning it over to Margaret,” she 
thought exultantly. ^^Fate has worked everything like 
a charm for me.” 

^^How do you like the wealthy old count, my dear?” 
asked Mrs. Thornby, the hostess, of Aurelia, a little 
later. ^^Isee” — she added archly — ^^he is monopoliz- 
ing very much of your attention, much to the chagrin of 
your many other admirers.” 

Aurelia shook back her dark curls with a gay laugh, 
but was not communicative. 

^^The lion of the evening is not here,” said Mrs. 
Thornby, and it is so disappointing. So many young 
girls are here for the express purpose of meeting him.” 

^^Some great foreigner, I presume?” smiled Aurelia. 

^^On the contrary, an American — and a very modest 
and unassuming young man, too, to be worth several 
millions of money,” returned Mrs. Thornby. I like 
him better than most young men society is filled up 


202 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

with. The young girl who gets him will get a bargain, 
I assure you.^^ 

Who is this paragon?’^ inquired Aurelia, languidly. 

And the answer nearly took her breath away. 

A Mr. Gerald Eomaine.^^ 

There must be some mistake,’^ cried Aurelia. 
knew a Gerald Eomaine; but it cannot be the same one. 
He — the one I knew — was poor as a church mouse.” 

^^This Mr. Eomaine is a wealthy mine owner of Brazil. 
I should not be surprised if it was the young man you 
knew. I have heard that less than a year ago he went 
down there a poor man, with a few patents — some arti- 
cles he had invented — and by chance they happened to 
fill a public want. They were utilized in the mines and 
on the railroads, and in no time he found money rolling 
in to him by the thousands; he bought mines and quad- 
rupled his money. Now he bids fair to be one of the 
richest men in America before he is five-and-thirty. The 
beauty of the whole affair is, as I said before, he is as 
plain and modest a young man as you ever met — his 
great good fortune has not spoiled him.” 

Aurelia had listened with breathless attention. Yes, 
of course it was Gerald, and no other. 

It seemed most miraculous to her that the miserable 
old patents, as she had always called them, had turned 
to fabulous wealth in Gerald’s hands. And to think that; 
Gerald, whom all the world was now wanting, loved her 
— Gerald, with all his millions. 

She resolved to seek him out at once. He had taken 
new value in her eyes; and, if she found that it was 
true — that he really had been successful, and was now 
worth great mines in Brazil, she told herself that she 
would marry him. 

Of course he must have been to the farm in search of 
her, and how disappointed he must have been when he 
found her gone, and that he could find no trace of her. 

Good fortune is pouring in upon me,” she thought. 

will marry Gerald and have his great wealth, and I 
will go to England, too, and claim the vast inheritance 
my mother intended that I should have.” 

Even in this moment the heartless girl did not say to 
herself: 

I will give Margaret her rightful inheritance in Eng- 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


203 


land — give to her also the money Dr. Thorpe left her, 
and be satisfied with Gerald^s fabulous wealth, and Ger- 
ald^s love/^ 

Perhaps if she had not been so pitiless toward hapless 
Margaret, Ileaven might have shown her more mercy in 
the end. 

As it was, her aim was to grasp all, and leave Mar- 
garet — nothing. 

She had always supposed Margaret and herself to have 
been twins, and, of course, of the same parentage; it 
was a surprise to know that Margaret was older than she 
by two years, and, above all, a great surprise to know 
that her mother was only an English peasant girl, as she 
phrased it. 

Now, she told herself, she could really understand 
why she and Margaret were so different — as widely dif- 
ferent as the gloriously brilliant stars in the sky and the 
simple field daisies — earth stars — that reared their timid 
heads from the dust of the roadside. 

A peasant girPs daughter! Ah, that accounted for 
MargarePs meekness and servility — Peasant would be 
peasant, though you clothe him in a coat of dia- 
monds!^^ 

It came natural to Margaret, after all, to toil for her 
daily bread — she was in her natural sphere; while she 
herself, born of aristocratic parents, was a lady, and 
more fitted to rule over those vast English domains than 
timid, modest Margaret. 

She could even smile patronizingly on Randolph Clav- 
ering and his bride now, as they passed her by. Tri- 
umph blazed from her flashing, dark, splendid eyes, and 
curling lip — in the proudly-poised head and flushed 
cheeks. 

She could already imagine two countries paying hom- 
age to her — the grandest people of the two worlds bow- 
ing at her lovely feet! 

Yes, she must see Gerald at once, she told herself. 
As for Gerald Romaine there was an excellent reason 
as to why he was not at the grand reception that even- 
ing. ' 

On searching for Dr. Briscoe that morning, the lad in 
charge of his down-town office had directed him to the 
hospital, where, he told him, he would be sure to find 


204 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


the doctor between the hours of ten and twelve, A. m., 
and thither Gerald bent his steps. 

am afraid I shall not be able to keep my appoint- 
ment with yon, Gerald, he said. I have a case to-day 
that needs extra attention. I shall do everything in my 
power to save her. It is a sad thing to see a fair young 
girl die. If a woman ever bore the stamp of a saint or 
an angel on her face, this one does. As well as being a 
tinker at inventions, in the old college days, you used to 
be something of an artist, Gerald. And any man with 
an artistes eye could not help being struck with the 
heavenly beauty of this fair young girl. I use the word 
heavenly advisedly, because there is more of the saint in 
her face than the taint of earth. 

^MVhat seems to be the matter with the young girl?’^ 
asked Gerald, interested, even in spite of the slight con- 
cern he took in women nowadays. 

One of the policemen found her ill and starving — 
ay, starving — in the park a few days since. She was 
brought here unconscious, and has been delirious ever 
since. We do not know her name, or where her friends 
could be communicated with — in fact, nothing whatever 
about the poor, forlorn creature. 

Starving! and in a land of plenty!^^ cried Gerald, 
with deep emotion. Briscoe,'’^ he said, in a low, husky 
voice, ^Met everything in the power of mortals be done 
for this young girl, and I will stand the expense. I can 
put my money to no better use than doing good to my 
fellow- creatures. I cried out to Heaven last night that 
money was dross — that it was useless — but I see that 
that was a mistake; rightly used, it is a blessing from 
God.^^ 

Will you come in and see this young girl, Gerald?’^ 
asked Dr. Briscoe, much moved by his friend^s impulsive 
generosity. 

returned Gerald, modestly, I think not, my 
dear Briscoe. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


205 


CHAPTER XLII. 

I DID THINK YOU WOULD CARE WHAT BECAME OF 

ME. 

You are missing a sight of the prettiest face the sun 
ever shown on, Gerald, my boy — it you refuse to see this 
young girl,^’ continued Dr. Briscoe, earnestly. ^‘Y’ou 
are such a beauty worshiper, I wish I could induce you 
to change your mind.^^ 

If you really wish me to see her so very much, why, 
I doiPt mind,^^ returned Gerald, smiling. 

Arm-in-arm the two friends passed down the long cor- 
ridor together, and the doctor paused at length before 
Room 24, the door of which was ajar, and tliey both 
entered. 

A nurse stood before the bed on whicli the patient lay, 
hiding the girl from view, from the doorway. 

They took one step forward, and at the sound, the face 
on the pillow was turned restlessly toward them. 

One glance, then a terrible cry broke from Gerald Ro- 
maine^s lips: 

My God! am I mad — or dreaming? It — is — Mar- 
garets^ 

And ill an instant he was kneeling before the white 
couch. 

^^Do you know her, Romaine?^’ exclaimed the doctor 
in wonder, looking sharply at Gerald's white, pained 
face. 

Yes," he answered simply, with something very like 
tears shining in his brave, honest eyes, and in a few 
brief sentences he disclosed Margaret's identity to Bris- 
coe. I have every reason to believe that her sister, 
Aurelia, married a wealthy young man recently," he 
continued, slowly, and therefore I — I — cannot account 
for Margaret's being found sitting in the park suffering 
from hunger. My God, I can hardly realize it," and ten- 
der-hearted Gerald Romaine laid his head against the 
fair face on the pillow, and wept like a child. 

The blue eyes that had so often looked at him with 
love, now turned toward him in puzzled, mute wonder. 

Perhaps it would be best for my patient if I leave 
them alone together," the doctor thought; Gerald may 


206 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

be able to arouse her from the dangerous lethargy into 
which she is gradually falling/^ 

Beckoning the nurse to follow him, and signifying his 
intention of returning shortly. Dr. Briscoe quitted the 
apartment. 

Gerald^s grief was so great he did not even notice their 
di^parture. 

Margaret, he whispered, earnestly, clasping the 
little, thin, white hand, wandering so restlessly to and 
fro on the counterpane, ^^do you not know me?^^ 

But in the dreamy gaze of the blue eyes that met his 
there was no gleam of recognition. 

She did not attempt to draw her hand from his clasp, 
but let it lie in his firm grasp, just as a little child might 
do. 

How white and wan her face was, and he noticed too, 
the deep lines of pain about her lips. 

Sweet, gentle Margaret, who has loved me so well; 
ah, how cruel to find her thus,^^ Gerald moaned. 

Her lips moved, and he bent his fair, handsome head 
nearer still to hear the words she uttered. 

It is so cold in the park,^^ she sighed, oh, so cold 
and dreary, since the light of the sun has gone down. It 
is just about the time we used to light the lamps at the 
dear old farm. Am I — the miserable girl sitting in this 
park under the cold trees — am I the same girl who used 
to be so happy in those other days before she came and 
took Gerald’s love from me?” 

Hearing Margaret go on in this strain was more than 
Gerald could well endure; every word was a bitter re- 
proach to him, for his share in making her life so un- 
happy in the past. 

He could not check the thoughts that fell so pathetic- 
ally from her lips. He could only listen in sorrowful 
silence to her words. 

Oh,” she moaned, catching her breath with a little 
hard sob, I often think God is angry at the wish in my 
heart that I could live those old days over again, for he 
has said: ^ Let the dead past rest.’ 

Was it best for Heaven to send her there, with her 
beautiful face, to take him from me? Why should 
Heaven have held to tlie lips of one the wine of life, and 
to the other — the lees? Why should God have made 


THE Bl'/ 7 ' ( COQUETTE. 207 

her so fair and me so plain — was ifc fair? Why should 
Gerald have loved her best?^'' 

^^Oh, Margaret — Margaret/^ sobbed Gerald, don^t 
talk like that any more — you are breaking my heart/^ 

You did not know Gerald/^ she went on, without 
heeding the agony of the white face bending over her. 

To know him was to love him. I had no one else but 
him — he was my world. AVhen we parted my heart 
broke 

Gerald^s very soul Avas moved Avith pity for this girl 
who had loved him with so sweet, so pure, so true a 
love. 

He dreAV her into his encircling arms, pillowed the fair 
head on his breast, and, bending his head, kissed the 
prattling lips, murmuring over and OA^er again: 

My poor little Margaret, my pure, true little love.^^ 

Suddenly he saw the eyes looking so A'acantly into his 
OAvn dilate; and he ahvays said afterward that his kisses 
on her lips had drawn her senses back to this Avorld. 

The next moment Margaret was looking up into his 
face with the light of reason shining in her OAvn. 

Gerald!’^ she gasped, quite believing herself to be in 
a dream, though the arms that clasped her so tightly, 
refusing to allow her to struggle out of them, were real 
enough. Gerald she Avhispered, where am I — hoAV 

came I here? I Oh, I remember, I — I fainted in the 

park; but what place is this? Did you find me, and 
bring me here?^^ 

Still holding her close, despite her desperate efforts to 
free herself from his firm clasp, Gerald explained the 
affair just as Dr. Briscoe had told it to him, ending by 
earnestly beseeching her to tell him Avhy she had left the 
farm Avithout leaving one line behind her by which Au- 
relia and herself could be traced. 

left Aurelia there — she is over at the village. I — I 
did not think you Avould care Avhat became of me,^^ 
Margaret faltered, hiding her face in her trembling 
hands. 

Aurelia is not at the village,^^ returned Gerald, 
quickly; and he told her the story of how he had been 
there — and the people thereabouts had told him that 
both sisters had disappeared together. 


208 THE BEAVT'Pt L )Q ETTE. 

Margaret^s distress at hi aring th[< as pitiful to be- 
hold. 

She has followed me t New l oxxv to find me and — 
and share my misfortunes, Gerald/^ she declared, ve- 
hemently; but I — I did not want her to toil too; she 
was intended for a lady. I meant for her to take the 
seventy-five dollars I left, and board in the village. I 
would have found something to do, before it was ex- 
hausted, which would have yielded enough to support 
both of us.^^ 

Patient, noble Margaret, murmured Gerald, husk- 

There is one thing which must be done, and done at 
once,^Mie declared; and that is to search New York 
over until we find Aurelia. But I hardly think we will 
have much difficulty in finding her,^’ he added hesitat- 

ingly- 

And he recounted to Margaret what Dr. Briscoe had 
told him concerning Eandolph Clavering’s bride, and 
ending that he had every reason to believe that it was 
Aurelia whom Clavering had married. 

And, as Margaret listened, the memory of the dark, 
lovely face in the coach which had fiashed so quickly 
past her recurred to her, and she was forced to coincide 
in Gerald’s belief. 

^^But it was strange, Gerald,” she said, with quiver- 
ing lips, that she did not search for me. I told her 
to write me at the general post-office, and every day I 
called there, but no letter ever came. 

You will go to her at once, Gerald,” she pleaded; 
^^tell her how ill I have been, and how weak I am, and 
perhaps she will come to me.” 

Promising to do his best to bring her back with him, 
if it were possible, Gerald took his leave. 

He had not told Margaret yet of his great change of 
fortune. 

He was so pleased to see how much she thought of 
him still, believing him to be poor. There was great 
comfort in this thought for him. 

Somehow, after the first fierce throb at his heart, the 
idea of seeking Aurelia in her husband’s home to deliver 
her sister’s message did not seem quite so bitter a task 
to accomplish. 


209 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

lie had told himself that he would learn to forget her, 
to meet her, now that she was another^ with a calm 
face, even though his heart tortured him. 

In this frame of mind, Gerald bent his steps toward 
the Clavering mansion. 

In answer to his summons a servant admitted him; he 
was shown into the drawing-room, and the man who 
took up his card returned with the message that Mrs. 
Clavering would see him very shortly. 

It seemed an age to Gerald, sitting in that sumptuous 
room waiting for her, and how many thoughts rushed 
across his mind, as his eyes wandered impatiently about 
the apartment. 

How often in the days gone by had he pictured what 
his meeting with Aurelia would be like. How he would 
watch for her coming with his very soul in his eager 
eyes. How he would spring forward to greet her, clasp 
her madly to his heart as though death itself should 
never part them again, and kiss the beautiful face, the 
lovely lips and laughing eyes of her who was, in the near, 
sweet future, to be all his own. 

He had lived over this scene in fancy so many times, 
and nowy how different from his day-dreams was the bit- 
ter reality? But he must nerve himself to meet her 
calmly. 

Why should his heart throb at the glance of an- 
other man^s wife^s bright eyes, or the clasp of her 
hand? 

Gerald arose from his chair, and with knitted brows 
paced thoughtfully up and down the room. 

The swish of silken skirts in the corridor outside 
warned him very soon, however, that Eandolph Claver- 
ing^s wife would, within that moment, make her appear- 
ance, and in spite of his resolution, his heart throbbed 
madly in his breast. 


CHAPTEK XLIII. 

WHAT IF HE WERE TO MARRY MARGARET? 

That moment of time seemed the lenglh of eternity 
to Gerald Romaine. 

The door opened, and he saw a tall, slim figure in pale- 
rose silk standing before him. His eyes were dazed, as 


210 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

by a strong and sudden flood of light — lie could not see 
clearly — the gorgeous room and the tall, slim figure 
seemed to whirl around him. 

You wished to see me, Mr. Eomaine?’"’ said a sweet, 
low voice; and the sound of it recalled Gerald^s scattered 
senses. It was not the voice of Aurelia. 

The mist cleared from before his eyes, and he saw that 
it was not Aurelia^s entrancing face on which he 
gazed. 

You wished to see me, Mr. Eomaine?’^ she repeated 
gently. 

There is evidently a mistake, madam, said Gerald, 
flushing with painful embarrassment. In Mrs. Ean- 
dolph Clavering I — I expected to see quite another per- 
son, one — one — whom I had know,^^ he stammered. 

I think I understand,^'' she replied quickly; ^^you — 
expected to see Miss Aurelia Lancaster.^" 

Gerald bowed. Then they both laughed, realizing the 
ludicrous side of the affair — for the confusion was 
mutual. 

I can direct you where to find Miss Lancaster, how- 
ever, said young Mrs. Clavering at length. She is at 
present visiting the Hardings, on Lexington Avenue, I 
believe. 

Indeed P’ said Gerald, surprisedly. Why, I know 
Mr. Harding well.^^ 

AVhen Gerald took his leave, he took a cab at the 
corner of the street and drove directly to Lawyer Hard- 
ing's office. 

The lawyer was delighted to meet him. Only that 
day he had been thinking of Gerald Eomaine, and had 
been pondering over the advisability of inviting the young 
millionaire to call upon him, with a view to introducing 
Eomaine to his pretty daughter. He was therefore 
more than pleased to see the object of his thoughts step 
into his office. 

^^I have but a moment to stay,^' said Gerald, accept- 
ing the proffered seat the lawyer placed for him. ‘^I 
called to see if I have been rightly informed in regard to 
a young lady who is visiting at your house, I believe; will 
you kindly inform me if it is Miss Aurelia Lancaster?'^ 

No, Aurelia Lancaster is dead,'' returned Lawyer 
Harding. ^^The young lady who is stopping with us is 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


211 


.^largaret Lancaster, her sister. As the young girls lived 
in your family, surely, you, of all other men, ought to be 
conversant with the fact that Aurelia has been dead for 
years. 

Gerald looked at him in blank amazement. 

There is evidently an error somewhere,^^ he said. 

Aurelia was not dead up to a few weeks ago. I have 
this from her sister Margaret^s lips.^^ 

We are evidently talking at cross- purposes, like the 
two knights on either side of the gold and silver shield. 
The best way to get at the root of this atfair, is to tell 
you how I made the acquaintance of the lady who is 
stopping at my house, returned Lawyer Harding. 

Thereupon he proceeded to give Gerald a complete and 
minute resume of the visit of Dr. Thorpe to his office; 
the will he had drawn up for him in favor of Margaret 
Lancaster, and of the doctor^s sudden death subsequent- 
ly; and how he had journeyed to Eomaine farm himself 
to see the young girl and acquaint her with the strange 
trick fate had played upon her; and how startled he had 
been by her dark, glorious beauty when he had first 
looked into her face. He could understand then the old 
doctor^s mad infatuation for Margaret Lancaster. 

He had told her of the great amount of money be- 
queathed to Margaret Lancaster, and she had shown 
him conclusive proofs that she was the Margaret he 
sought. She had told him, too, the full and complete 
history of her life, and had mentioned that she once had 
a sister named Aurelia, but that she was now dead. 

Like one turned to stone, Gerald Eomaine listened. 
As the lawyer proceeded, sentence after sentence, with 
his story, he understood the whole affair. It was as 
plain as day before him. Soon after Margaret had de- 
parted the lawyer had come and explained his errand, 
and with her great, intense craving for wealth, Aurelia 
had not been able to withstand the teiimptation of 
passing herself off for Margaret and claiming her inherit- 
ance. 

He was too dumfounded by this revelation to even 
think clearly or to follow further the lawyer^s remarks. 
He could not find it in his heart to reveal the truth to 
the lawyer on account of the horrible expose that would 
follow, ending in the bitter disgrace of the woman he 


212 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

had once loved better than his very life. No, no, he 
could never do that. He told himself that he must have 
time to think his way clearly out of the entangling laby- 
rinth in which he found himself. He recollected him- 
self with an effort. The lawyer was saying: 

Shall I tell Miss Lancaster you will call?’^ 

Gerald laid his hand earnestly on the other’s arm. 

No, not yet,” he said, incoherently. I Will 

you do me the great favor of not mentioning to Miss Lan- 
caster that you have seen me?” 

Certainly, if you wish it,” returned Mr. Harding, 
wondering in his own mind what had caused the young 
man to change his mind so abruptly on hearing that the 
girl was now an heiress. 

When Gerald Komaine left the lawyer’s presence and 
walked out to where his coach was standing, he felt very 
much dazed — like a man under the influence of strong 
wine. 

How should he break the news of Aurelia’s treachery 
to Margaret? he asked himself. 

Where to now, sir?” asked the coach-driver, as he re- 
entered the vehicle. 

Once or twice through the park, then to Hos- 

pital,” returned Gerald. 

He must have time to think clearly what course to 
pursue. 

This last escapade of Aurelia’s showed him her char- 
acter in a light in whi ch he had never seen it before. He 
never censured her because her heart had gone out to 
another lover, even though at the time she was betrothed 
to himself, for we have no power over the human heart; 
love is ordered by a divine power and goes where it is 
sent, despite all obstacles. No, he could not blame her 
for that, but a complete revulsion of feeling swept over 
his heart when he pictured to himself the heartlessness, 
the treachery, the cruelty of a girl who could usurp an- 
other’s place, take the bread, as it were, out of another’s 
mouth, and, like the vampire, feed upon the life-blood 
of her sister — poor, patient, gentle Margaret, 

In that moment even his respect for Aurelia died out 
of his heart. While Margaret had been sitting ]n the 
park suffering the pangs of hunger — ay, of hunger — Au- 


213 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

relia had been rolling in the wealth so treacherously ac- 
quired. How was he to tell Margaret that? Why, it 
would break her heart. 

Suddenly, riding through the cool, green park, an idea 
came to him that made his heart throb quickly, and his 
fair, handsome face flush. 

A way occurred to him to meet the difficulty nicely. 
Why not marry Margaret, if she would overlook the past 
and have him? He had enough for both. Let Aurelia 
keep the money which she had bartered her honor to 
gain. 

Sitting there, he pictured to himself what life with 
Margaret would be like — calm, uneventful, peaceful — 
no great height of bliss — no great depths of disappoint- 
ment. Men would never look upon him with desperate 
envy because of the peerless wife he had won; but on 
the other hand he would never know the pangs of jeal- 
ousy, the haunting doubts that had cursed many another 
man^s life who had cast all his life-hopes on a beautiful 
woman\s love. 

He could take Margaret into the society of the most 
fascinating men in the world, and yet feel safe in Mar- 
garet^s fidelity. His honor would be dear to her as life 
itself. No man, save himself, could ever dare to hold her 
hands and look love to her out of his eyes. Home to her 
would be a sacred shrine. 

She would watch and wait, when evening fell, for his 
coming. If all the world of wives went wrong, Margaret, 
his sweet wife, would be true. And Gerald Eomaine 
was man of the world enough now to know the priceless 
value of a woman^s constancy. 

By the time the coach stopped at the hospital, Gerald 
had fully made up his mind as to the course he should 
2)ursue. 

As he ran lightly up the broad, marble steps, he 
thought of the lines that had haunted him ever since he 
had read them, and which seems to have almost been 
written for him: 

’Tis sweet to feel in this sad world of change, 

Where selfishness and pride so much abound, 

That there is one, however wide we range, 

To greet us lovingly when home is found — 


214 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

One whom we know will faithful be till death, 

Whose heart-throbs play in concert with our own. 
Whose love will bless us till our latest breath. 

To whose pure bosom falseness is unknown. 

“ The famished wretch who droops his head with shame. 

May be relieved by any passer-by; 

The ardent youth who hungers after fame, 

Has alw^ays hope of feasting presently. 

But, oh, to feel that we are all alone, 

That love’s sweet cup has vapored to the lees, 

That there is no heart we can call our own — 

This is a hunger nothing can appease. 

“ To wander on without a ray of hope. 

To find no respite even in our sleep, 

Life’s sun extinguished, in the dark to grope. 

And hopeless through this world to creep; 

No balm for us, no medicine can cure — 

The ailing is beyond the reach of art — 

All other hunger strong men may endure. 

Except the weary, dreary hunger of the heart.” 

Margaret will wonder that I have returned to her so 
soon/^ he thought, with a grave smile lighting up his 
fair, handsome face, and how amazed she will be when 
she learns my errand. 

What if the bitter past lay like a dark chasm between 
them, which all his earnest pleading could not bridge 
over? What if Margaret refused to trust him a second 
time with the love of her gentle heart? 

Surely he had no right to expect anything from her 
hands. 


CHAPTEK XLIV. 

MARGARET LOVED HIM EOR HIMSELF — NOT HIS WEALTH. 

As Gerald had expected, Margaret was quite surprised 
at seeing him so soon again. 

She held out her thin, little white hands to him with 
an eager light in her eyes. 

You have news for me of Aurelia, she said, earnest- 
ly; ‘Hell me, Gerald, is it not so?^^ 

He shook his head. 

“ You did not expect it so soon?^^ he asked, lightly — 
evasively. 

Her countenance fell, and she looked at him wistfully. 
“ Xo; I came back to talk to you of you rself, Ma 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 215 

garet/^ he said, huskily, seating himself beside thecouch 
— taking her hands and stroking them gently. 

^^Then the doctor has told you all, Gerald she whis- 
pered. 

He has told me — nothing, ^’returned Gerald. Why, 

what is there to tell, Margaret 

He was here just a little while after you left,^^ she 
returned, slowly, ^^Two other doctors were with him; 
they held a consultation about me, and — I — heard them 
say it would be almost a miracle — if I — I — lived. 

Are you crying, Gerald?^^ she asked, in wonder, as 
he buried his face in his hands, and his strong frame 
shook with emotion. 

You must live, darling, he whispered; ^^you shall 
not die; I could not lose you.^^ 

She smiled such a weak, pitiful smile up into the face 
he had bent over her. 

You are sorry for me, Gerald, she whispered, but, 
indeed, you must not be; I am not sorry to go; only — 
only — one fear comes to me; who will there be to look 
after Aurelia when — when I am gone?^^ 

A hard, bitter smile crept round his lips. Poor, trust- 
ing Margaret! if she but knew of Aurelia’s treachery; 
but he could not tell her of it — no, not now. 

You shall not die, Margaret,” he cried, vehemently; 
you shall live — for my sake'. Live to be what you 
should have been long ago, in that past which was ruth- 
lessly lost — be my wife, sweet Margaret.” 

She looked at him with dilated eyes, and shrunk from 
him, and this action caused him the keenest pain. 

Margaret,” he cried, ^^why do you shrink from me? 
Have you learned to despise me for my mad folly in that 
past? Have you lost faith in me utterly?” 

You pity me, Gerald,” she murmured, gently and 
you are deceiving yourself into believing that it ‘o 
No, no, it could not be; you could never love o poc.i, 
plain girl like me; you feel sorry for me because uv 
is going out so soon.” 

I do love you, Margaret,” he declared, vehemeutiy, 
and I want you to let me prove it to you. In the fut- 
ure my love shall never waver as it did in that unhappy 
past.” 


216 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

You could not love me, for your heart is Aurelia\^’ 
she sobbed, faintly. 

‘^AVas Aurelia^s,^’ he corrected, gently, but noio it is 
all yours, Margaret. Your sister is now nothing to me — 
nothing. Oh, Margaret, trust me once again with your 
priceless love, and see how I shall prize it.’^ 

^^We could never be anything to each other but 
friends, Gerald,’^ she said, wistfully; we were never 
intended for each other. I — I did not know that at first; 
I saw it all afterward. I — I am too plain to hold your 
love now, so what would it be when I would be plainer 
still — when age wrinkled my face and whitened my 
hairP^ 

You would still be my loving, faithful Margaret — 
my guiding star,^^ he murmured. 

No,’^ she persisted, we are not suited to each other, 
Gerald. The woman you love must be very clever and 
beautiful — I am neither. Some day you will be very 
famous, Gerald, for I have great faith in your patents; 
you will win fame and riches, and you will move in the 
great world of fashion, where you will meet great men 
and noble ladies — you — you would feel ashamed — yes, 
ashamed, Gerald, of me.^^ 

What if 1 was never to make anything out of my 
patents, Margaret?’^ he whispered — I were destined 
to be poor for evermore — what then?’^ 

He could feel the slender hands he held tremble in 
his grasp; and a bright wave of color surged over the 
paleness of her face, leaving it, as it receded, paler than 
ever. 

Will you answer me, Margaret?^^ he urged. If 
you believed that I would always be poor, and could be 
made to believe that I would love you with so faithful 
and true a love that it would be incapable of swerving 
aorniu — would you then trust yourself to my keeping?’^ 

: discuss it, Gerald, when you know my time 
■: IS so shorfc?^^ she murmured. 

'' ’>i t ^ must have my answer, Margaret. he said, 

^ ^ king eagerly into her eyes, and drawing the 
' ' *^5: sting form nearer still to him. 

Ah, Margaret! you love me still, he whispered: 
^^you have always loved me, and will love me until the 
day you die. Let me make you happy, dear. Oh, Mar- 


THE BE A UTIFUL COQ UETTE, 


217 


garet, say that you will marry me when you are strong 
enough to leave this place! Margaret, love, only trust 
me once again. Forget, like the angel that you are, 
that I once threw ruthlessly aside the great pearl of your 
love. Give it once again into my keeping, and as I deal 
with you, so may Heaven deal with me!’^ 

Can any one wonder what gentle Margaret^s answer 
was, loving him with a love next to that she gave her 
God? 

Her whole soul yearned for him. It seemed to her 
Heaven was stretching down to earth to her. 

^^Oh, Gerald, I do not deserve to be so happy she 
sobbed. 

Then your answer is yes, is it not, Margy, dear he 
whispered. 

Yes, Gerald,’^ she said, shyly, and he bent and kissed 
the pale lips for the second time as the seal of their be- 
trothal. 

Dr. Briscoe scarcely recognized his patient, there was 
such a change in her when he beheld her an hour later; 
but he knew what had caused it when he saw her in- 
folded in Gerald Komaine’s arms with her fair head pil- 
lowed on his breast. 

From that day Margaret^s recovery was as speedy as 
Gerald could hope for. 

There was only one thing to mar her happiness and 
weigh heavily on her mind, and that was, her solicitude 
over Aurelia, and the word Gerald brought her from day 
to day that he had not been successful as yet in finding 
her sister. 

But the seventy-five dollars I left her will soon be 
exhausted, Gerald,^^ she would sob pitifully; ^‘and then, 
oh. Heaven pity her, what will Aurelia do then, Gerald? 
She has been reared so daintily, you know. She cannot 
work. What will she do?^^ 

^^Do not waste your pity on so worthless an object,^^ 
were the words on Gerald^s lips a score of times, but he 
dared not utter them; he only said: ^^The seventy-five 
dollars will not melt as rapidly as you anticipate, Mar- 
garet, dear. I promise you I shall be sure to find her 
before it is exhausted, and she is reduced to want. 
Trust me in that, darling, as you do in everything 
else.’^ 


218 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

— I almost feel that it is sinful to be so happy in 
your love, Gerald, Margaret said one day, while Au- 
relia’s whereabouts is unknown to us. Only Heaven can 
tell the great agony of mind she may be enduring in 
searching for me and not being able to find me. How 
strange, Gerald, tliat we did not think about inserting a 
personal in all the leading papers acquainting her as to 
where I am. It is strange you did not think of that, and 
you so clever.’^ 

Gerald smiled and thanked her after the fashion that 
lovers like best for so pretty a compliment. 

One day, when he called to see Margaret, he found 
her with a very anxious face. 

Gerald,” she said, looking up with wistful tender- 
ness into his face, ‘^you come here to see me every day, 
don’t you, dear, and — and you stay for hours. 

As an engaged lover, who is very soon to claim his 
wife now, has a right to do,” he declared, laughing. 

Of course I — I love to see you, but, Gerald, can you 
afford to lose so much time from your work?” she asked 
earnestly. You — you must find it very hard mak- 

ing enough to meet the expenses of your board, dear, 
from week to week, don’t you? Tell me how you man- 
age?” 

Gerald Eomaine threw back his fair, handsome head 
and laughed aloud, picturing to himself how Margaret 
would stare if he should tell her that all those hard, 
grinding days of poverty were over now, that he was a 
millionaire many times over, even though he was dressed 
now quite as plainly as when he was Gerald Eomaine, 
the farmer’s son. 

Wouldn’t simple Margaret be amazed at the fine lady 
he intended to make of her! 

It was truly like the pretty romance of the Lord of 
Burleigh enacted over again. 

But wealth and grandeur would not spoil Margaret, 
nor should she droop and die. And how sweet the 
thought, Margaret loved him for himself, not his 
wealth. 


.xE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


219 


CIIAPTEE XLV. 

PLEDGED TO EACH OTHEK. 

Aurelia had made up her mind to see Gerald Eo- 
maine the very day after the reception, but she soon 
found that it was not so easy locating a person in the 
great metropolis. 

She sent messages to all the hotels; but the word was 
brought back from all that Mr. Eomaine was not stop- 
ping with them.^^ 

He must be with friends, Aurelia told herself impa- 
tiently, and it was quite impossible to determine his 
whereabouts. 

She heard nothing but praises of Gerald on every lip, 
and, in listening to the glowing accounts of his fabulous 
wealth, her regard for her former lover awakened into 
new life. 

It was a keen delight to her to know that this young 
man, whom the whole world of women wanted, loved 
only her; that they had not the least possible chance of 
winning him. 

Gerald had been pointed out to Alice Harding by one 
of her girl friends, as they were riding down the avenue 
one day, and the girl could never forget the frank, smil- 
ing blue eyes that had met hers for an instant so indif- 
ferently, then glanced carelessly past her. 

I have seen Mr. Eomaine!^^ she cried, rushing into 
Aurelia^s room that night. Oh, isn^t he splendid, 
though! It is a wonder, Miss Lancaster, that, living 
beneath the same roof, you never fell in love with 
liimT^ 

Aurelia threw back her curly head with a forced 
laugh. 

‘^I liked Gerald very much,^^ she answered; and he 
— well, he idolized me so much that it was the talk of 
all the country round. We were engaged, you know, at 
one time.^^ 

Miss Harding opened her eyes very wide, and Aurelia 
saw her flush uneasily. 

^^Then you are not engaged now?^^ she asked, anx- 
iously. 

^^No, not now,^^ returned Aurelia, lightly. ^^And 


220 THE BEAUTIFUL COQl'Vrry, 

sometimes when I get to thinking the matter over, I 
am sorry that I broke off with him — he was so fond of 
me!^^ 

It is a wonder, then, that he does not call upon you 
— for the sake of old times, returned Miss Harding, 
with just the slightest suspicion of malice in her smooth 
voice. 

I told him never to come near me unless I sent for 
him,^^ said Aurelia — the quick-witted — uttering the lit- 
tle fib as nonchalantly as possible. 

It was too keen a cut to her pride to have Alice Hard- 
ing think that he would be in the same cicy and was in- 
different about seeing her. She determined to have her 
think that there was an excellent reason for his not do- 
ing so. 

If you threw such a handsome young man as Mr. 
Eomaine over, you are very hard to please, that is cer- 
tain, Miss Lancaster!^^ declared Alice, with a toss of her 
head, which said almost as plainly as words that she 
rather doubted that statement, however. 

If I knew where he was stopping I would send him a 
line, and you would see how quickly he would respond,^^ 
declared Aurelia, flouncing out of the room, and closing 
the door after her with a bang. 

She renewed her efforts to find Gerald that afternoon, 
but to no purpose. 

♦There was not a trace to be found of him in all New 
York; and thus, day after day winged its swift flight by, 
and the days lengthened into weeks. 

Aurelia’s father was impatient to set sail for England, 
but she always succeeded in putting him off from week 
to week, with the excuse that she was not quite ready. 
Her real reason was that she would not leave Gerald Ro^ 
maine behind her. 

As for Gerald, those days passed pleasantly enough 
with him; as Aurelia had concluded, he was indeed stop- 
ping with friends. 

A Mrs. Denham, the wife of one of the superintend- 
ents of his mines, resided on Lexington Avenue, and to 
her Gerald went straightway after he had left Margaret 
on the day he asked her to be his wife, and, narrating 
that romantic portion of his story concerning Margaret 
to her, begged her to tell him where he should take her. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 221 

when she was able to leave tho hospital, until they were 
ready to be married. 

Bring her to me, my dear Mr. Eomaine,^^ said the 
motherly old ladj, ^^arid you .shall stop with me, too; 
this old house is roomy enough for a whole party of 
young people; bring your sweetheart tome, by all 
means. 

It was certainly a yhim of Gerald^ but he begged 
Mrs. Denham not to tell Margaret just yet how kind 
fortune had been to him, and she laughingly con- 
sented. 

That very afternoon he took her down to see Margaret. 
Naturally shy with strangers, this grand old lady, with 
the proud face, dressed in silk, and whose fair old 
wrinkled hands shone with gems, quite overawed the 
timid girl, but, with the tact habitual with good breed- 
ing, Mrs. Denham soon succeeded in putting her quite 
at her ease. 

As Mr. Eomaine^s friend and yours, I have deter- 
mined that the happy event shall take place at my house, 
my dear,^’ she declared, taking Margaret^s hands in hers 
and looking down into the girBs blushing, bashful face. 

Now please do not thwart me in this plan; and I have 
begged Mr. Eomaine to use his influence with you to 
make my home your own until your marriage. 

Her great kindness and generosity and apparent inter- 
est in her quite overpowered and bewildered Margaret. 

^^Oh, madam, you are too good to meV^ she faltered, 
cannot find words in which to sufficiently thank you. 
Gerald and I could never repay you for your goodness — 
only with the deepest and most sincere gratitude.^^ 

Don^t mention it, my dear, said the lady reddening, 
thinking to herself how much she and her husband were 
indebted to Gerald Eomaine for his generosity to them. 

Thus it came about that, as soon as Margaret Avas able 
to be removed, she was taken to Mrs. Denham^s home. 
Its grandeur quite overawed the girl, used only to the 
simplest surroundings; it seemed almost a magnificent 
palace to her unsophisticated eyes; but as the days 
glided by there was one other thing besides being un- 
able to find Aurelia that sorely perplexed Margaret, and 
that was to understand why Gerald should spend so 
much time in apparent idleness. 


222 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

Eveiy morning lie sent her a fine bouquet of roses, 
Avhich she found beside her plate, and when she found 
that they were from a fiorist, and were as much as two 
dollars for a single dozen, her alarm grew. Gerald must 
be spending all the money he received from the patent 
which he sold, for fiowers. 

Margaret had been brought up prudently, with the 
maxim always before her that willful waste makes wo- 
ful want,^^ and accordingly she Avas much troubled at 
this lavish expenditure of his hard earned dollars on 
Gerald’s part, and she made up her mind that she must 
speak to him again about it. 

The matter culminated in a very ludicrous manner, 
and came about in this way: 

One morning, as they were leaving the breakfast-table, 
Gerald asked Margaret to come into the library with him, 
saying he had something for her, and she followed him 
there at once. 

Seating her in one of the large leather arm-chairs, 
Gerald drew up a hassock beside her and fiung himself 
down upon it at her feet. 

Kiss me first, my darling,’^ said Gerald, then I 
will tell you what I have for you. Come, now, do not 
say that you are not like the rest of your charming sex — 
just dying of curiosity to know what it is,’^ he said, 
laughing. 

Very timidly Margaret complied, struggling out of his 
arms when he would have held her closely. 

Well,” said Gerald, with an air of resignation, ^‘1 
hope you will think it Avorth another kiss after you have 
seen it.” 

And as he spoke, he drcAV from his vest-pocket a tiny 
parcel which he proceeded to unAvrap, disclosing at 
length a bright crimson velvet little case, and touching 
a spring, the lid fiew back, disclosing to Margaret’s as- 
tonished, delighted eyes the loveliest ring she had ever 
beheld — a hoop of gold, with a large, white, glisten- 
ing stone, that looked like an imprisoned dew-drop, im- 
bedded in it, lying upon a white velvet bed. 

Margaret fairly caught her breath Avith rapture, clasp- 
ing her hands together and looking at it Avith her whole 
soul in her eyes. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


223 


you like it, Margy dear asked Gerald, well 

pleased. 

have never seen anything one-half so beautiful in 
all of my life,^^ she exclaimed, rapturously; and, woman- 
like, she was too absorbed ih its beauty just then to think 
about the cost. 

Is it worth another kiss?^^ asked Gerald, auda- 
ciously; and he took it before Margaret had time to 
reply. 

There could be no engagement without a ring, Mar- 
gy,^^ he declared, ^^so I had this made for you. Do you 
see the inscription inside 

And holding it up to the light, she saw the words en- 
graven in it: 

To my sweet love, Margaret — From Gerald. 

You will prize it for its beauty, I know, dear,^^ said 
Gerald, placing it on her white hand. 

Then, for the first time in his life, Gerald saw gentle 
Margaret deeply agitated. 

With a sudden impulse she threw her arms about his 
neck — it was the first caress she voluntary gave him, 
and he saw that her sweet face was wet with tears. 

‘^Gerald, dear/^ she sobbed, it is not its great beauty 
for which I shall love it — if it had been a gutta-percha 
ring I should have prized it just as much, Gerald, be- 
cause it is your gift, and it is the outward token that we 
are pledged each to the other. 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

^^YOUR Ai^SWER HOLDS LIFE OR DEATH FOR ME."" 

Gerald Romaifte could not help being touched by such 
beautiful and faithful devotion to himself, and he won- 
dered vaguely, as he sat there at her feet, clasping her 
little hands, how his love had ever happened to stray 
from her to fickle, fiighty Aurelia, who thought as little 
of crushing the hearts of men as she thouglit of walking 
over the wild flowers and crushing them with her dainty 
heels. That love dream had been like the torrid heat of 
a summer noonday — this was the quiet calm of a setting 
October sunlight; golden, tranquil. 

When Margaret left Gerald"s presence, she hurried 


224 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


straightway to the drawing-room where she knew that 
she would find Mrs. Denham — to show her lover^s 
pretty gift. 

What a beauty, Margaret, my dearT^ she exclaimed, 
enthusiastically; it is the most beautiful diamond that 
I have ever seen — it is indeed P 

A diamond!’^ cried Margaret agast. ^MVhy, Mrs. 
Denham, ..you are greatly mistaken; it is not a diamond 
ring. I have always heard that they cost great sums of 
money. Gerald could not 

Why, Margaret rMnterrupted Mrs. Denham, eagerly, 
forgetting for the moment her promise to Gerald in her 
excitement, I assure you it is a diamond, and a most 
magnificent one. 1 am sure it did not cost less than a 
thousand dollars — possibly twice that sum.^^ 

Margaret^s face had grown white as death. 

Are you sure it is a diamond ring, and costly, Mrs. 
Denham she asked, hoarsely. 

Certainly, my dear. Don^t you suppose I know a 
good diamond when I see it?’’ 

Margaret clung to the back of the nearest chair for 
support. 

Gerald must take the ring back to where he bought 
it. There is some terrible mistake, somewhere, Mrs. 
Denham,” she sobbed, piteously. 

With that the lady recollected herself. 

^^Let me give you a word of advice, my dear Mar- 
garet,” she said, anxiously, and that is, don’t say any- 
thing to Mr. Eomaine about it. You’ve got your pretty 
ring — just keep it.” 

No,” responded Margaret, firmly. I could never 
do that. Gerald is a poor man. How could he have paid 
as much as a thousand dollars, or even half that sum, 
for a ring? I know there is some great mistake. Why, 
Gerald could not have afforded one that cost over five 
dollars, Mrs. Denham,” she added gravely. 

The idea was so ludicrous that for once in her life the 
stately matron lost her dignity, laughing so heartily that 
Margaret looked at her in wonder. 

You will certaiuly be the death of me. Miss Lancas- 
ter,” she declared, between her explosions of laughter. 

I have never seen a young lady like you. Any other 
girl would never think of bothering her brain worrying 


225 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

how much a ring cost or where her lover got the money 
to pay for it, or whether he could afford it or not. I re- 
peat, you are a most extraordinary girl. Your being 
brought up in the country accounts for your quaint no- 
tions. I am afraid, when you marry Mr. Eomaine and 
settle down in the city to live, you will change those 
pretty ideas. You will want your diamonds larger than 
your neighbor's; you will want ilecklaces that an em- 
press might envy, and rings and brooches that will be 
the talk of the country.^^ 

You forget that I am going to marry a man who 
would be unable to gratify any such longings, even if I 
were foolish enough to have them,^^ returned Margaret. 
^^Even if we should prosper, slie went on, thought- 
fully, I would never consent to Gerald investing in a 
senseless little ring enough money to buy a thrifty farm. 
Why, it would burn my finger if I did.^^ 

And, with this remark, Margaret hurriedly quitted the 
drawing-room and walked swiftly to the library. 

Gerald was still there, writing letters. 

She went up to him swiftly, and laid her hand — the 
little hand on which the beautiful ring shone — gently 
but firmly on his arm. 

He looked up at her with a smile, but the smile faded 
from his handsome, good-humored face when he saw the 
tears in her blue eyes. 

What is the matter, Margaret?’^ he cried, anxiously, 
laying down his pen, and clasping the little hand eager- 
ly in both of his. 

I — I want to talk to you, Gerald,^"" she faltered, ^'but 
I — do not know how to speak. 

My dear Margaret,^^ he said, am glad that you 
come to me, as you now do, with your little troubles or 
grievances — there must always be perfect confidence be- 
tween us, my dear.^^ 

That is just what I want to talk about, Gerald,^" she 
replied, with wistful tremulousness. Is there perfect 
confidence between us, do you think? Oh, Gerald, are 
you sure of that?’^ 

‘^1 would not willingly deceive you in any way, my 
dear — knowingly,^^ he declared, the drift of her thoughts 
never once occurring to him at that moment. 

^^Gerald,^^ she murmured faintly, speaking with a 


226 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


great effort, as though her voice choked her, when a 
man is very poor — and he buys costly things, wliere 
does he get tlie money to do it with, do you suppose?'^ 

Even then Gerald Eomaine, being so honorable in 
thought, word and deed — having no guilty conscience to 
accuse him, never dreamed that she was referring in any 
way to himself, and he answered lightly: 

A good many of them gamble , most likely. Men 
with expensive habits, who have not the money to grati- 
fy them, usually get it by hook or by crook — being none 
too particular as to how they make it.^^ 

Margaret slowly drew her diamond ring from her 
finger, and laid it down on the paper before him. 

Gerald, she said, calmly, keeping back her tears 
by a superhuman effoj’t, ^^if the money that purchased 
this ring was gained by you dishonestly, I would sooner 
die than wear it. If you have become a — a gambler I — 
will never marry you. I love you dearer than my life — 
but I would rather give you up than promise before the 
altar the cruel falsehood that I would love and honor 
you — if you took so much as a penny from any man dis- 
honestly/^ 

She had expected to see him flush burning red, then 
turn deadly pale, and end by confessing the whole truth 
to her, and the way in which he sat back in his chair, 
his gay laugh echoing and re-echoing through the room, 
quite bewildered her. 

^^It is not a matter to make merry over, Gerald, she 
sobbed. Your — your — answer holds life or death for 

me.^^ 

^^Theh it will be life, my good girl,^^ he said, drawing 
her forcibly toward him. ‘‘ i see there will be no peace 
until I tell you the whole truth — make a clean breast of 
the whole affair. I wanted to have a surprise for you 
on the day I am to claim you for my bride, but I think, 
even though you hear the truth, you will still love me, 
and even in your timidity, you will not shrink from me, 
for I will be the same Gerald five minutes from now, 
after telling you, that I am now; say to yourself now, as 
you must say to yourself then, ^that Gerald is your 
true and devoted lover, and that your affection must be 
just the same for your husband that is to be, as it was 
before you heard the story. "" Do you promise this?’^ 


227 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

Yes/M*etiirned Margaret, I promise, but I could 
not believe that you would ask me to do this jf you had 
ever gambled/^ 

Drawing her closer to him still, Gerald poured into her 
astonished ears the story of his great change of fortune 
— of the almost fabulous wealth that had been showered 
upon him from every side, and what her position in the 
world would be when she became his dear wife, and 
shared his honors and great wealth with him. 

But when he had finished his story, Margaret spoke no 
word. 

She had listened like one turned to stone, her face as 
pallid and cold as marble. 

Do you not rejoice at our good fortune, sweetP'Mie 
cried enthusiastically. Oh, Margaret, how silent you 
are. Surely you are glad? It is not in human nature to 
be otherwise, my darling. 

She laid her head on his arm, and wept so bitterly, he 
was amazed. 

How oddly she took the joyful intelligence! 

Will you tell me what you think about it, Margy?'^ 
he said tenderly, stroking the fair, tumbled hair back 
from her tear-stained face. 

is what I think, Gerald,^’ she sobbed: 

‘ You walk the sunny side of fate, 

The wise world smiles and calls you great. 

The golden fruitage of success 
Drops at your feet in plenteousness; 

And you have blessings manifold; 

Renown and power and friends and gold; 

They build a wall between us twain 
That may not be thrown down again, 

Alas, for I the long time through. 

Have loved you better than you knew.’ ” 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

THE STORY OF A BLIGHTED LIFE. 

Margaret,^^ said her lover, deeply pained by her 
words, it seems almost incredible to me to see you take 
this matter as you do; I had supposed your joy would 
be great — it is not hkc my noble Margaret to regret — my 
success.^’ 

She looked up at him though her tears. 


228 


THE BEAVTIFUL COQUETTE. 


is not yoiir success I regret, Gerald/’ she an- 
swered, in a choking voice, ^^but the thought which 
comes of it: 

‘“It builds a wall between us twain 
Which may not be torn down again.’ ” 

It is not like you, Margaret, to take such a cruel 
view of tlie case/’ Gefald persisted. What is mine, 
will be yours, dear. You must look at it in that light. 
Think how happy I can make you — being able to gratify 
every wish of your heart. Love, without wealth, is very 
good — but with wealth, it is tlie greatest happiness the 
earth holds. I am no mercenary, my darling, I speak 
from experience which comes from a thorough and 
practical knowledge of the world, and the manifold ad- 
vantages of all powerful gold. Dry your tears, Margy; 
look up, and smile again. You have loved me through 
poverty, and now I plead for the continuance of the 
same affection, despite the wealth that has come to 
me.” 

Margaret looked np and smiled, to please him; but for 
all that, her heart was very heavy. 

Long after Gerald left the library, Margaret still sat 
motionless, with her face buried in her hands. 

For the second time in life I had just begun to be 
happy, and— -once again is the cup of happiness to be 
dashed from my famished lips,” she sobbed, piteously. 
^‘1 trusted to Gerald’s love once before, and I found it 
so weak.” 

And sitting there, the anguished words a woman had 
once uttered came with startling clearness back to her. 
She could almost hear that voice sobbing again: 

^^Oh, Miss Lancaster, the wealth that has come to my 
husband, brought with it a curse to me, for it built a 
wall between us, and lost me my husband’sdove.” 

Margaret thought of the tragic story this lady had 
poured into her ears. 

She lived in the little village that lay over the hill 
from Eomaine Farm, and the village folk spoke of her 
as the proud, cold lady who lived in the great stone 
house on the hill — who never smiled. For twenty years 
or more she had rarely passed the precinct of her own 
gateway. 


229 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

Once, years before, one of the good old ministers of 
the village called upon the lady. What his reception 
w’as, what he saw or lieard behind those closed doors, he 
would never reveal; his visit was but of a few short mo- 
ments^ duration; but from that hour the name of the 
lady who lived in the stone house on the hill never 
crossed his lips. 

One day, when Margaret w^as a little child, and was 
culling wild roses by the roadside, she was startled by a 
step, and glancing around she saw a woman, robed in 
shimmering silk, standing motionless in the path, watch- 
ing her intently. 

Margaret, child though she was, recognized in the 
woman — by the description John Romaine had given 
the family of her — the occupant of the stone house on 
the hill. 

^^No doubt she wants some of these pretty flowers I 
have just gathered, thought the child, remembering 
what the villagers said about no flowers ever growing in 
that waste of land that surrounded the stone house — 
they had been choked out, long years before, by the 
weeds. 

Will you please have these flowers, ma^am?^^ said the 
child Margaret, timidly. 

The woman drew back, her face paling visibly. 

Child! what tempted you to offer me those roses?'^ 
she asked, adding harshly in the next breath, Did you 
expect I would put a gold piece into your hand for 
them?’^ _ 

Oh, no, ma'am, indeed not,^^ Margaret had answered, 
in deep distress. ‘^1 did not want money for them; I 
would not have taken any.^^ 

You meant to give them to me?^^ she asked, incred- 
ulously, her face relenting from its hard, habitual ex- 
pression for a moment. 

^^Yes,^’ murmured Margaret. 

^^What impulse led you to do it, child asked the 
woman. 

Because I wanted to please you,^^ returned Margaret, 
simply. 

Heaven bless your sweet face, child, she said, tak- 
ing the roses, and kissing the little hand that had held 
them. ^^May Heaven in its mercy spare you from ever 


230 


THE BE A UTIFUL COQ UETTE. 

knowing a fate like mine. Wliat is your name, and 
where do you live?^^ 

‘^My name is Margaret Lancaster, and I live at Ro- 
maine Farm/^ the child had made answer. 

Years passed on, and Margaret quite forgot the little 
episode, but it was called forcibly back to her mind by a 
strange incident. 

It was at the time when her heart was so heavy over 
the loss of Gerald Romaine; and one night she had Avan- 
dered down the woodland path, and when far away from 
tlie house, and where she thought no human ear could 
hear her, she had flung herself down under the trees in 
the long grass, sobbing as though her heart Avould break 
— and such bitter tears, that the angels up in heaven 
must have grieved for her. 

Suddenly a hand was laid upon her shoulder, and 
glancing up, Margaret saw a woman standing in the 
moonlight before her. 

One glance, and she recognized — although she had not 
seen her for long years — the lady who lived in the stone 
house on the hill. 

The recognition was mutual. 

The woman drew back with a little cry, as she saw the 
face raised to her own. 

Margaret lianoaster — the child who gave me the 
flowers years ago — a woman now, inheriting a woman's 
heritage of sorrow! Will you tell me your grief, Mar- 
garet? You will feel better for unburdening your sor- 
row’ to some one.'^ 

The voice was so kind that Margaret obeyed. And 
still sobbing as though her heart would break, told her 
all. 

She listened, until the girl had come to the end of her 
story, without a word of comment. 

*^Poor Margaret,'' she sighed, smoothing back the 
girl's fair hair. Your grief is bitter, you think, but, 
oh, child, the loss of a lover is as nothing compared to 
what your bitter woe would be if it was a husband's love 
you had lost. No sorrow the wide world holds could 
equal that. Why, I laugh at a girl's heartaches at the 
loss of a lover. That is a grief that soon mends, they 
find, e'en though they love deeply. Let me tell you my 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


2B1 


story, and you will see that there are griefs far more 
cruel tlian yours, and which only the grave can hide. 

have wealth, child — wealth that would purchase a 
king^s ransom. I have every luxury that money can buy, 
and yet before you you see a woman who is the unhap- 
piest, I believe, that ever the world held. 

When I was young, like you, Margaret Lancaster, 
the world was fair enough. I was a miller's daughter, 
and I sang among the corn, flowers, or by the brook side, 
as happy as the day was long. 

I married the young village lawyer, and, oh, child, for 
a time the world was a golden dream; we were poor, but 
we loved each other so well, that we never minded that 
— we had each other. We had a little cottage, and I 
cooked the meals; and, oh, how Willie loved me then. 
Suddenly a relative died from afar over the seas and 
made my Willie his heir. The lawyers sent for Willie 
and he had to go. Oh, how I clung to him with kisses 
and tears, begging him to come back to me soon. 

He went, and the sun seemed to darken as I watched 
him go down the path, and the world to grow chill. I 
did not understand it then. I knew but too well what it 
meant after. It was the premonition of the evil that 
was to come that cast its dark shadow on before. My 
Whllie stayed in that far-off England three long and 
weary years; at first his letters came long and regular; 
then by degrees they grew shorter and came at longer 
intervals; but I would not think anything of that, save 
that my Willie was too busy to write. 

^^One day when I was sitting sewing, a shadow crossed 
the sunshine of the window. I stepped to the door and 
flung it open; a handsome man, proud and cold, stood 
on the threshold, but even despite the fineness of his at- 
tire I knew him — it was my Willie who had come back 
to me. I sprung to meet him with a great, glad cry, but 
his arms did not fold me to his heart — they pushed me 
from him — and the lips that brushed my forehead were 
as cold as ice. I drew back and looked at him with a 
heart as bitter as death. I felt that my Willie who had 
loved me so well had died, and in this haughty stranger's 
cold, proud life I had no part. He was a great city 
gentleman now, the neighbors said, and had come back 


232 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


for his country wife. It was so. Miss Lancaster, Willie 
was indeed a gentleman then. 

I went with him to the elegant mansion in New York 
that he had purchased, but, oh, life was cruel there. 
Willie was ashamed to show the fine friends who called 
upon him — his country wife. We had bitter quarrels, 
for my pride was hurt to the quick, and one day AVillie 
cried out that he wished he had never married me— that 
he had gold a king might envy him in possessing — but it 
was as dross to him because he had married a woman be- 
neath him. ^ Never from this hour,^ he cried, ^ will I 
have one word to say to you. Live beneath the same 
roof with me, if you must, but from this hour you go 
your way and I go mine; when we meet it shall be as 
strangers. And through the years that came and went 
after that he kept his word. 

I pray God in his mercy that no other woman will 
ever experience the living death those years were to me; 
to live beneath the same roof with the husband she 
idolizes and be as far from him as the earth from the 
stars. There were times when I would have given the 
whole world to have flung myself on his breast and, 
sobbed out to him — that this life was killing me. I would 
have given my life to have had him clasp my hands and 
talk to me in the old way. He died surrounded by 
haughty strangers, and without one word to me. Since 
then I have shut m5^self up in the stone house on tlie 
hill, in the lonely village yonder, praying for death that 
is long in coming. The wealth that came to my husband 
was my curse. Miss Lancaster. If wealth had not come 
between us, his love would have been mine until the day 
he died.^^ 

Heaven help me,^Hhought Margaret, as she reviewed 
that pitiful story in her own mind. Will that be the 
way with Gerald and me? I dare not think of the 
future/^ 


CHAPTEirXLYIII. 

A MEMORY OF THE PAST. ' 

Mr. Lancaster — or, rather. Count Lorenzo, as he pre- 
ferred to call himself — could not understand why his 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 2313 

daughter should require so much time to prepare for her 
journey. 

He liad long since tired of New York, and longed for 
the bustle of London, or the gayety of Paris, and he 
vowed at length that he should not remain in this city a 
day longer than was actually necessary. 

With the intention of acquainting Aurelia with this 
resolve, he went to Lawyer Harding^s house one day and 
called for Miss Lancaster. 

The lady is not at home, sir,^^ replied the servant, 
who had ttiken his card. 

Can you tell me when I shall bo likely to find her 
in?^’ he asked, rather impatiently. 

The man shook his head; but the count knew of tlie 
golden key which always unlocks a servants lips, and, 
as he finished the sentence, he thrust a bank-note in the 
other^s hand. 

The man made a low obeisance, and pocketed the 
money. 

Miss Lancaster has gone out for a ride in Central 
Park, sir,^^ he said. It is always very uncertain as to 
what time she will return. My advice is, if you are so 
very anxious to see her, station yourself just within the 
gate nearest Broadway — this side, and you will be sure 
not to miss her; she always comes that way.^^ 

With a haughty nod of thanks for the information, the 
count turned away. 

It was certainly good advice, and the count took it; he 
sauntered leisurely up Broadway, and took up his station 
at the place indicated in the park. 

There were hundreds of equipages on the drives that 
sunny afternoon, and hundreds of loiterers in the paths; 
but the count’s eyes never lingered for an instant upon 
them. 

I do not feel like myself, ^Mie muttered; I cannot 
tell why. I am not a superstitious man; but, somehow, 
I cannot shake off the premonition that something un- 
usual is about to happen to me — the very air seems to 
oppress me; I 

The sentence was never finished, even in his own 
thoughts; for, at that moment, a laugh fell upon his ear 
— a laugh, sweet and musical, that vibrated through 
every fiber of his being like an electric shock. 


2U 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

He turned quickl}^ eagerly, and saw two ladies coming 
down the path toward the gate. One was portly, with 
silver-white hair and eye-glasses. A parasol hid her 
companion’s face from his view; but lie knew that she 
was young; her form was slender and girlish, and the 
hand that held the parasol was beautiful and white. 

An impulse, which the count was wholly unable to un- 
derstand, caused him to move to the other side of the 
gate, where he might catch a glimpse of the girl’s face. 

One glance, and it seemed to him that every drop of 
blood in his veins left his body. 

He was too startled to clearly understand that he had 
attracted the attention of the elderly lady, who was re- 
garding him critically. 

The ladies were Mrs. JDcnham and Margaret Lancas- 
ter. 

^^Look, my dear,” said Mrs. Denham, nervously, see 
how that man by the gate is watching you ! I feel actu- 
ally nervous about passing so near him. Turn your 
head another way. The rude stare of strangers is the 
most annoying thing a lady is subjected to in New 
York.” 

It was quite true; the count was watching Margaret 
with his whole soul in his burning eyes, and Margaret 
seemed to feel the iiifluence of those magnetic eyes to 
the depths of her heart, for she trembled and turned 
pale to the lips. 

As the count watched her so intently — so bi’eathlessly, 
memory carried him back long years to a far-off country, 
and to a dusty traveler wandering under the linden 
trees, and of the sudden sound of just such a sweet, 
musical laugh, and how the traveler bent forward to 
catch a sight of the face of the girl who had awakened 
his heart to a new thrill of life by her voice. 

He had seen a fair face, as sweet as youth and health 
could make it, with rosy cheeks, tender blue eyes, and 
white forehead, framed in a mass of fluffy, flaxen hair. 

SliQ was crossing the blossoming hop-fields with a com- 
panion, and in accordance with the customs of the coun- 
try, carried a basket of fruit on that pretty, graceful, 
flaxen head, the poise of which a princess might have 
been proud of. 

The stranger had followed her quite to her home, and 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 


235 


saw that she lived in a small cottage down in the valley, 
and he found upon inquiring at a neighboring cottage 
that the girl’s name was Margaret, and that she sold 
fruit in the market-stall in the village twice a week. 

It had been the stranger’s intention to loiter in the 
little German village but a day, but the event had hap- 
pened which changed for all time the course of his exist- 
ence; he had met for the first time in his life a being 
who had awakened a throb of love in his heart, and when 
the summer faded, and the hops Avere ripe for picking 
in the fields, he was still there, for he, whom beautiful, 
high-born beauties had smiled on in vain, had asked 
Margaret to be his bride, and she had consented. 

They Avere Avedded, SAveet Margaret, the pretty peasant 
girl, and the stranger, Avho Avas the count himself. 

The first tears that had fallen from his hard, cold eyes 
for long years filled them as memory reverted to that 
blissful honeymoon that lasted just one brief year, and 
then his blue-eyed Margarei Avas cut down like the corn- 
fiowers in the field, suddenly and without warning, by 
death’s cruel scythe, and the frail mite that she placed 
in his arms looked up at him Avith Margaret’s sweet 
blue eyes. 

But little Margaret had died in her babyhood, as Au- 
relia had told him, and the thought came to him that 
she must have looked quite like this fair young girl had 
she lived. 

A longing, strong as the rush of the Avaters of the 
mighty ocean, came upon him to hear her speak, if but 
one Avord — only one little word. 

He tried to call to her — to put one question to her, that 
she must ansAver, but Avords failed him; his lips moved, 
making no sound. 

She drew nearer — nearer. Ah, God in Heaven! how 
like Margaret’s eyes Avere these blue ones turned so 
timidly toward him. 

He was not accountable for the rash act that followed. 
The despairing soul of the man rendered him desperate 
for a moment. 

With one bound he had cleared the space that sep- 
arated him from Margaret, gained her side, and had 
clasped her in his arms, covering her face with kisses 
and tears. 


236 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

Ill an instant the greatest confusion prevailed. Mrs. 
Denham was shrieking, and Margaret was struggling, 
panting with terror, out of his arms. 

Oh, you wretch gasped Mrs. Denham. If there 
was but a policeman about; but they are never at hand 
when they^re wanted. 

^^I — I — beg — your pardon, said the count, humbly, 
drawing back abashed, and letting his arms fall heavily 
to his side. ^^Do not censure me too harshly; I could 
not help it.^’ 

Mrs. Denham’s rage knew no bounds. She had thrust 
the frightened girl back and stepped between them. 

Could not help it, indeed!’^ she cried, quivering with 
wrath. ^MVe shall see about all that;” and here she 
called shrilly to an officer who had just made his appear- 
ance around the corner of the path. 

But before the man had time to reach them and listen 
to Mrs. Denham’s complaint, Margaret’s trembling white 
fingers were clutching eargerly at her arm, 

(^h, spare him!” she sobbed piteously — do not have 
him arrested. I am sure he mistook me for another 
— some one he knew and loved.” 

Do you mean to say that you wish this man who has 
offered you so dastardly an insult to escape all punish- 
ment for this heinous offense ?” 

If you please,” murmured Margaret, desperately. 

It is because she wishes no scandal,” was the thought 
that passed through Mrs. Denham’s mind; and on the 
whole, she did not know but Avhat it would be best to 
do as she so earnestly desired — let the matter drop; and 
yet her chagrin was great at the thought of letting this 
villain go free. She turned on him a look of withering 
contempt. 

If the young lady were a daughter of mine,” she 
said, “1 should force her to prosecute this affair to the 
fullest extent of the law. As the matter now stands, I 
am powerless to mete out to you the punishment you so 
richly deserve.” 

By this time the policeman had come up to them. Mrs. 
Denham was the personification of diplomacy. She 
asked the guardian of the peace the location of an ad- 
jacent avenue. He pointed the way and passed on, lit- 
tle imagining that one of the grandest exposes New York 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 237 

might have ever known had been averted by a wornan^s 
tact. 

thank you/^ said the count, turning to Margaret 
with much feeling. Words fail to express how deep- 
ly. You are so like one Avhom I loved — and lost — that 
my feelings carried me away. Sweet girl, do not con- 
sider what I have done I meant for an insult in any man- 
ner whatsoever. If your life was in peril at this mo- 
ment, and I could save you at the risk of my own, I 
would do it.-"^ 

Were his words prophetic? The sentence had barely 
left his lips when, directly behind where they were 
standing, they heard a terrible shout, and turning sud- 
denly around, they beheld a sight that froze the blood in 
their veins — a horse, riderless, dashing toward them with 
Ijghtning-like speed. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

^^GOD HELP ME — I CAMKOT TRUST YOU.^’ 

Too quick for a prayer — too quick for a thought the 
maddened animal had cleared the space that intervened, 
and was rearing above Margaret^s head; another instant, 
and those iron hoofs would be planted upon that blue- 
veined, upturned, horrified face. 

The count saw and realized, and with a mighty cry 
sprung forward between Margaret and the infuriated 
beast, flinging the girl with all his strength to one side; 
but a burst of horror broke from the white lips of the 
spectators of that awful scene — for they saw that the 
fate from which he had saved the young girl, had over- 
taken himself; the iron hoofs struck him, and he fell to 
the earth like a log; and the horse dashed on. 

The whole affair had happened in almost an instant of 
time; but Mrs. Denham alone seemed to have retained 
her senses, and was capable of action. 

She saw that Margaret had swooned, and seeing the 
stranger lying there, with the green grass dyed with the 
blood which oozed from a gaping wound on his temple, 
her first thought was that he was dead. In a trice she 
was kneeling beside him; but on placing her hand over 
his lieart, she found that it still beat faintly. 


2;*>8 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

Ifc was hours after that when Margaret Lancaster 
opened her eyes. 

She found herself in her own room at Mrs. Denham 
with both that lady and Gerald bending anxiously over 
her. 

With consciousness, memory returned — they knew 
that by the gasp of terror that Margaret gave. 

Where is he — the — stranger — I mean; was he hurt?'^ 
she cried, excitedly. 

Yes,^^ returned Mrs. Denham, gravely: ^Hie back on 
the pillow, and I will tell you all about it.^"^ 

Too weak for remonstrance, Margaret obeyed. 

^^He was badly hurt, my dear,’^ continued Mrs. Den- 
ham, ‘"but the doctor who is in attendance upon him 
has hopes of his recovery; and owing to the fact that he 
saved your precious life, Margaret cW.ar — I felt that the 
— the unpleasant episode in wliich he was first brought 
to our notice should be entirely obliterated, so I had him 
brought here/^ 

i“I must see him and thank him/^ sobbed Margaret, 
starting up. “ Poor gentleman! I thank God he is not 
dead/^ 

Great was Margaret^s emotion as she knelt down by 
the couch on which the stranger lay. 

“He saved my life, Gerald, at the risk of his own,^^ 
she whispered, turning to her lover; “how grateful I 
must always be to him.^^ 

And she bent her fair, beautiful head, and reverenti- 
ally kissed the strangePs hand, which lay on the cover- 
let. 

An hour or more Margaret kept her weary vigil by the 
stranger^s bedside, and she could not account for the 
keen comfort it gave her to sit there and watch him, 
holding his hand clasped in both of hers. 

He had fallen into a deep sleep when she had taken 
her place beside him, and now suddenly his eyes opened 
again, but there was no light of reason in them as they 
wandered about the room. 

At length they ]’ested upon her, and a smile that was 
like a glory broke over his face. 

“Margaret — precious,^^ he whispered, fearfully, “is it 
indeed you, come back from the grave to me?"'’ 

Margaret was startled at the mention of her name, but 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 239 

she accounted for it by thinking he had heard Mrs. Den- 
ham call her by name, and now it ran in his thoughts. 
Perchance her name might be Margaret, too, this woman 
of whom he was murmuring. 

Margaret, ^Mie went on pleadingly, ^^it seems but 
yesterday that we wandered through the hop fields hand- 
in-hand. We were all in all to each other then, love. I 
would give my life to live those days again, and, oh, 
sweet, a thousand lives, if I had them to give, to atone 
for the wrong I did you. But you loved me through it 
all. Oh, Margaret, tender and true, I meant that the 
little child you left me sliould inherit all, dear, but she 
died. I tried to find her grave but I could not. Oh, 
Margaret, love, I never found life quite the same with- 
out you; it was all a dreary blank. Ah, me, if we could 
but live the brightest part of our lives over again, how 
we would improve the golden hours, my Margaret. 

Margaret,^Mie moaned, why are you so cold tome? 
Would all the love I could lavish upon you atone for 
that great wrong? You do not answer, darling, and 
your silence tells me the past is past.^^ 

Suddenly he held out his arms to her. 

Margaret,^Mie said, ^Met me fold you close to my 
heart for one little minute, as I used to do in the old sweet 
days; lay your soft cheek against mine, and let me kiss 
your sweet true lips.'^^ 

Margaret bent over him; her heart was too full for ut- 
terance, and gently his arms closed about her, and his 
lips reverentially touched hers. 

At that moment, so fatal to the after happiness of two 
lives, the door opened softl}^, and the next instant the 
one word — Margaret!’^ rang like a trumpet through 
tlie room, and tearing herself free from the encircling 
arms that clasped her so closely, Margaret turned swift- 
ly, and beheld Gerald Komaine, with a face white and 
stern as death, standing on the threshold. 

“ ll an angel from Heaven had cried out trumpet- 
tongued that you were false to me, Margaret, I should 
not have believed it,^^ he cried, fiercely; ‘^but what my 
eyes have witnessed I must believe,^Mie added, advancing 
a step into the room. No, don^t come near me; don^t 
touch me, Margaret! Sit down; we will talk this matter 
over as calmly as we can.^^ 


240 THE beautiful COQUETTE, 

Gerald/’ she sobbed, coming to him and standing 
before him, with hands clutched tightly together, ^^do 
not talk to me so; you — you are breaking my heart! You 
must not think — you must not believe ” • 

A hard, bitter laugh, that froze the blood in the girl’s 
veins, broke from his lips and arrested the sentence on 
hers. 

^^Do you mean to say that you did not permit this 
stranger to kiss the lips of my promised bride? Dare 
you deny it, when I saw it myself?” 

She looked up at him with bewildered eyes. 

‘^How can I deny it when you — you saw it, Gerald?” 
she muttered, in a low, distressed voice. ^^But I — oh, 
Gerald, believe me, love! — I meant no harm.” 

He laughed the bitterest laugh that ever was heard. 

In the fairest of jewels why must there be flaws?” 
he asked, harshly — ^^in the most perfect fruit, the black 
speck that marks decay at the root? and in the women, 
whom men believe angels, deception at their heart’s 
core? Is no woman true? Great God! the thought is 
horrible! Tell me the truth, Margaret,” he went on, 
hoarsely— has your heart gone out to this man? It is 
better to know before than after marriage. I want the 
plain truth — it is due me — I must have it!” 

^^My heart is warm with gratitude toward him, for I 
owe my life to him, Gerald,” she moaned; ^^you know 
that is only right; but I love you, Gerald, with a differ- 
ent love. If we were to part I — I should pray God in 
heaven to let the moment* in which you turned from me 
be my last! Trust me and believe me, dear! Oh, you 
must — you must!” 

Margaret,” returned Gerald Eomaine, gravely, my 
faith in you has been terribly shaken. God help me! I 
cannot trust you!” 


CHAPTER L. 

NO ONE SHOULD LOOK UPON HER FACE AGAIN. 

Gerald saw a great shiver pass over Margaret. The 
cruel words had struck her as lightning strikes a fair 
flower. 

She swayed to and fro as a leaf sways in the wind, and 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

if he had not put his arm out quickly aud caught her, 
she would have fallen to the floor. 

She did not turn and cling to him with tears and sobs; 
she lay in his arms like a marble statue, her face turned 
toward his shoulder, 

^^Have I hurt you by my words, Margaret!^’ he cried, 
in alarm. 

You have killed me, Gerald, that is all,^^ she said, 
struggling with the sobs to keep them back. 

With firm hands she freed herself from his grasp, and 
stood looking at him with a look that haunted him for 
many a long, dark year afterward. 

I shall never be the wife of a man who has not un- 
bounded confidence in me. You asked me once in the 
past to release you from your vows, and I did so. I 
now ask the same request of you, and you must grant 
it.^^ 

Do you mean that you want this engagement of ours 
broken he asked, catching his breath hard, 
do,^^ she answered firmly. 

Then if you could lose me as easily as this — see me 
pass out of your life without making one effort to keep 
me, then your love was indeed much shallower than I 
could have believed. 

We will not speak further of the depths of my love 
for you,'’^ she answered slowly. I have given you too 
much proof of it already.'’^ 

You hav'e brought this matter to this climax pur- 
posely, Margaret, cried Gerald, his face white and set. 

She turned away from him, and he rose abruptly. 

Good-bye, Margaret, he said. leave you now 
and forever; but I foresee that you will not die in the 
hour that we part, as you declared a moment since that 
you should do; you will nurse the handsome stranger 
back to health, marry him, ^ and be happy ever after,^ 
as the story-books say. Well, as I cannot prevent it, I 
must endure it.^^ 

Good-bye, Gerald,^^ she said gravely, steadily. 

He picked up his hat and walked slowly to the door, 
expecting every moment that she would call him back; 
but she did not, and the door opened slowly, and closed 
again after his retreating form. 

A few moments later, Mrs, Denham, entering the sick- 


m THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

room^ found Margaret lying in a dead swoon upon the 
floor. 

Thomas, one of the stalwart servants, was quickly 
summoned, and Margaret was carried at once to her 
own room. 

But she was so long in regaining consciousness that 
Mrs. Denham was frightened, and sent for Gerald in 
post-haste, Avhich, much to her surprise, he was slow in 
answering — he was usually so prompt where Margaret 
was concerned. 

When at lengch lie arrived at the house, and lieard 
from Mrs. Denham how apparently ill Margaret was, he 
blamed himself greatly, believing that it was his abrupt- 
ness in leaving her that had caused this. 

We have now two patients in the house instead of 
one,^^ said Mrs. Denham, thoughtfully. The stranger 
is better,^^ she went on; lie is rational enougli now. 
Had you not better see him, Mr. Eomaine, and learn 
from him his friends’ addresses, if he has any?” 

Very mechanically Gerald complied, thinking to him- 
self that the stranger should be removed from beneath 
that roof as soon as he was able to be taken away. 

He found the man rational as Mrs. Denham had said, 
but so remarkably weak that he could not speak above a 
whisper. 

Will you tell me what is the matter with me, where 
I am, and why I am here?” the stranger asked in a be- 
wildered tone of voice, raising his eyes to the young man 
bending over him. 

Have you any friends you would like to send for?” 
asked Gerald, favorably impressed with the man, al- 
though he had sworn to himself that he should hate him 
until the day he died. 

Yes,” replied the stranger. have a daughter — 
but for her I should have been all alone in the world 
now, with no one to care whether I lived or died.” 

You would like your daughter sent for?” returned 
Gerald. 

^^If you will be so kind,” returned the other. 

Gerald took his memorandum from his breast-pocket, 
and waited courteously. 

^^The address is No. — Lexington Avenue, city,” he 
murmured, weakly. 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


243 


But the name/^ said Gerald. You have forgotten 
to give me the most important part of the address. 

^^The name/^ replied the stranger in a low voice, ‘^is 
Miss Aurelia Lancaster,'^ 

A thunderbolt from a clear sky — a volcano bursting 
beneath his feet — could not have shocked and startled 
Gerald Eomaine more. 

^^Am I mad — or — dreamingr^ he cried, excitedly. 
^^Did I understand you to name Aurelia Lancaster?^’ 
Yes,^^ replied the count, whom we may as well call 
by his correct name — Paul Lancaster — now, ‘^you heard 
aright. She — is — my — daughter. Send for her.^^ 

Then Margaret is your daughter too,^^ cried Gerald, 
joyfully. Great God! what a weight is now lifted from 
my mind.^^ 

Paul Lancaster looked at him in bewildered amaze- 
ment. 

— I had a little daughter named Margaret — but she 
died in her infancy when I — I — was not with the chil- 
dren, so her sister Aurelia told me. The — the young 
lady whom I saw in the park looked so much like the 
dear young wife I had lost in youth, that it seemed to 
me, for the first time in my life, my feelings carried me 
away beyond my own control, and 1 — I kissed her. I 
did not mean any harm. Heaven knows. 

How Aurelia had found her fatJier, Gerald could form 
no idea — but he was astounded beyond all words to hear 
that she had told him that Margaret — her sister — was 
dead. 

There was something back of it that he could not 
fathom. 

All these thoughts passed through Gerald^s mind with 
lightning-like rapidity, but he drew up a chair, and, 
sinking into it, asked, without betraying his intense ex- 
citement: 

^^Did you ever hear your daughter Aurelia speak of 
the Eomaines? They were the people who brought her 
up from infancy. They Avere farmers down in Vir- 
ginia."^^ 

Yes, yes,^^ said Paul Lancaster, huskily. My wife 
died under their — roof — and — my little child Margaret. 
Who are you, young man, that you ask me these personal 
questions?’’ 


244 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

^^lam Gerald Romaine — the farmer^s son/’ was the 
quiet answer. 

God bless you and yours/^ returned Paul Lancaster, 
with great emotion. intended to search for you, and 
make it all up to you, I 

He sunk back exhausted on the pillow, too weak to 
finish the sentence, and Gerald dared not tell him, in his 
weak state, the great news he had in store for him. 

But Margaret — he could tell her — but then all the 
story of Aurelia’s perfidy, which he had kept so care- 
fully guarded from her, would come out. 

Hastily quitting the sick-room he went to the library, 
and sent one of the servants to Margaret’s room, beg- 
ging her to come down to see him, as he had something 
particular to say to her. 

A few moments later Mrs. Denham entered the room 
looking very pale, and walked up to him, laying a trem- 
bling hand on his arm. 

Mr. Romaine, can yon bear a great shock?” she said, 
gently. 

Yes,” he answered, hoarsely; ^^but don’t keep me 
in suspense.” 

Margaret — has gone,” she said, slowly; ^^she left a 
note for me saying she was going where no one whom 
she had ever known should look upon her face again.” 


CHAPTER LI. 

DRIVEN TO BAY. 

When Margaret left Mrs. Denham’s house, her head 
was in such a whirl that she paid little heed whither her 
footsteps turned. 

Finding herself opposite a cafe, and feeling greatly in 
need of refreshments, Margaret entered it and sunk into 
the nearest chair. 

Margaret drank only the tea, pushing back the food 
untasted after he had brought it. Suddenly she was 
startled by the sound of a sharp, stifled cry, proceeding 
from a small table directly opposite her. 

A young girl had risen from her chair and was hurry- 
ing toward the door. 

One glance at that face — that was like no other face, 
and Margaret sprung to her feet, calling loudly; 


245 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

^^Aiirelia! AureliaT^ 

But the girl only hurried the faster to reach the door. 

Ill that moment Margaret paid no heed to aught else 
save that she had found Aurelia, and, in the midst of 
the fashionable crush there was every possibility of los- 
ing her, for Aurelia had evidently not heard her voice. 

Throwing to the cashier at the desk a bill, with the 
check, and telling him she did not have time to wait for 
the change, Margaret hurried with desperate haste after 
the swiftly retreating figure. 

She saw her enter a carriage; it was the same grand 
equipage with the coal-black horses she had seen once 
before. 

Frantically Margaret signaled the nearest cab. 

Do you see that carriage turning around the cor- 
ner?*^ she cried, excitedly. 

The man nodded. 

Follow and overtake it,^^ she said, and I will give 
you double your fare.'’^ 

The next instant the cab was whirling at a break-neck 
speed in the direction the coach had taken, and ns the 
cabman turned the first corner, he saw the vehicle just 
ahead of him. 

At length the cab came to a sudden halt. 

It is stopping at the corner house, miss,^^ said the 
man, ^^and doiiT you see, a young lady has alighted and 
has gone up the stone steps. 

Margaret looked. 

Yes, Aurelia had alighted, and was just ringing the 
bell, but the greatest surprise of all to Margaret was, 
she saw that it was Mrs. Denham’s house which her sister 
had entered. 

Hastily alighting from the cab, Margaret paid the 
driver and dismissed him, and, all unmindful of the note 
she had written and left behind her for Mrs. Denham, 
hurried up the broad marble steps after Aurelia. 

Margaret glided into the house and down the corridor, 
where she heard the sound of voices. They were from 
the direction of the conservatory, and thither Margaret 
bent her steps. The door was ajar, and noiselessly she 
entered. 

The sight that greeted her eyes, as she parted the pink 


246 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


blossoms and looked at them, remained before her until 
the day she died. 

Gerald was sitting in one of the rustic chairs near the 
fountain, his face hidden in one hand; Aurelia, half 
kneeling at his feet, had grasped the other hand, and 
held it tightly. 

You tell me to rise, Gerald, my love, she said, in 
her musical voice — you tell me that no woman ought 
to kneel. I shall kneel to you, for my prayer is to you, 
and you must hear me, dearest. 

It is madness, Aurelia,^^ said Gerald, distressedly; 
^^you will not give me time to explain. I sent for you, 
not on my own account, but on your father’s, as I told 
you in my note, which explained to you that I know all. 
The past is past between us; other ties have been formed. 

I am now, as I was once before, in that past which it 
pains me to recall — the betrothed husband of Mar- 
garet.^’ 

The beauty pushed her dark curls back from her face 
and looked at him, with a low, passionate cry. 

The betrothed husband of Margaret — weak, docile 
Margaret, as you once used to call her! I cannot, I will 
not believe that you have been so foolish as to renew 
those old ties with her, dearest; but, even were it so, 
they can be as easily broken now as then! What does 
a weak, insipid creature like Margaret know of love! 
Nothing, I tell you! Oh, Gerald, do not let her come 
between you and me and our love!” 

Aurelia,” he said, with much agitation, ^Misten to 
me.” 

You loved me once, Gerald, better than life, and such 
a love cannot die out of your heart so soon, as you 
would have me believe. You betrothed yourself to Mar- 
garet through pique; but now that she has gone away 
from you voluntarily, do not seek to find her — let her go 
where she will. You and I will not grieve if we never 
see her face again. We shall have love and each 
other.” 

The very heartlessness of the remark struck Gerald. 
How could Aurelia, whom Margaret loved so well, speak 
so sneeringly, so harshly of her? he thought to himself 
in wonder; and she Margaret’s own sister. 


THE EEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. U1 

Perhaps she read the thought in his face, for she went 
on eagerly: 

Margaret Lancaster has not as much of a claim on 
me as you imagine, Gerald — Margaret is but my half-sis- 
ter, the daughter of a pretty peasant girl whom my fa- 
ther wedded and — and — deserted soon after the child 
was born. I heard the Avhole story from papa^s lips.'^ 

Then followed an accurate account from Aurelia of 
how she had met her father, and where; aud she also 
rehearsed to Gerald the story of the money the old doc- 
tor had willed, and, as before, she substituted her own 
name instead of Margaret's. 

It actually staggered Gerald to hear how innocently 
she could tell that glaring falsehood. 

^^It is a wonder you and your father, both being so 
rich, did not attempt to find Margaret,'’^ said Gerald, 
calmly, looking straight into her face. 

For the first time in her life Aurelia^s cool, daring 
courage forsook her. She saw in an instant that she 
was driven at bay, * 


CHAPTER LII. 

'^KEEP HER AND MARGARET THE WHOLE WIDE \VORLD 
APART. 

What pen could portray the feelings of Margaret Lan- 
caster as she listened, with breathless attention, to the 
wonderful revelation that fell from Aurelia^s lips, and it 
dawned upon her dazed senses that the stranger who had 
been so irresistibly attracted to her at the park entrance, 
and to whom her heart had gone out so strangely, was 
HER OWM FATHER. 

And she heard Gerald tell Aurelia how, on awakening 
to consciousness a few hours later, he had called upon 
the strangers about him to send for his daughter, Aure- 
lia, naming where they would find her, and Gerald had 
sent for her at once. 

‘'But why,^^ thought Margaret, “did my father not 
make some effort to find me, too, even though Aurelia, 
who seems to think so little of me, did not?’^ 

And the thought had hardly shaped itself in her mind 
ere Gerald asked of Aurelia the same question, and, 


248 THE beautiful COQUETTE, 

looking through the oleander branches, she saw Aurelia 
turn as pale as death. 

How little Margaret imagined what the answering of 
that question would mean for the treacherous girl! 

But Margaret^s thoughts were in too much of a whirl 
to pay much heed to this. 

AVith fleet footsteps she turned, and would have fled 
from the conservatory to her father^s side had not the 
hand of a strange fate held her back. At the flrst step 
the darkness of death seemed to enfold her; she threw 
out her hands with a little cry, and fell, face downward, 
among the roses in a deep swoon. 

Both Gerald and Aurelia, hearing the crash of the 
breaking vines and falling body, sprung forward. 

It is — Margaret cried Aurelia, excitedly, and in a 
voice that sounded like nothing human, she gasped out, 
hoarsely: 

Do you think she heard all?^^ 

lhave every reason to believe so,^^ said Gerald, rais- 
ing the inanimate figure in his strong arms and laying 
her down on the rustic bench near the fountain, from 
which he laved her face with cold water with his hand- 
kerchief to revive her, and too thankful in finding her 
to think of much else. 

Aurelia stood beside him, looking down at the death- 
white face; but no wave of tender feeling stirred her 
hard heart. 

You said Margaret had fled from you, Gerald,^^ she 
whispered, hoarsely. Are you glad that she has come 
back, or — are — you — sorry 

For answer he bent his fair, handsome head and pas- 
sionately kissed Margaret^s pale lips. 

If I had lost her,^^ he murmured, brokenly, ^Gife 
would have been nothing to me. I would have searched 
the world over to find her; and, having found her, 
pleaded with her, on my knees, not to break the sweet 
bond of love between us. My prayer to her would be to 
marry me, and give me the opportunity of devoting my 
life to making her happy. 

^^'You really love Margaret, then?’^ cried Aurelia, bit- 
terly. 

Yes, and I have loved my pure, gentle Margaret all 
my life,^’ he answered, calmly. 


249 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

She came close to him, and her face was marvelously 
beautiful in its penitential sweetness. 

Gerald, can you ever forgive me for the suffering I 
caused you in the past?’^ she sobbed. Let me tell you 
liow I have regretted it. Oh, surely the blind, silly 
girl, who, ignorant of the value of the tieasure, slighted 
and spurned it, may indeed be pardoned when, realizing 
her folly, and sensible at last of the nobility of a nature 
she once failed to appreciate, she comes and says, what 
it is so hard for a woman to say, ^ Take me back to your 
heart, gather me up in your arms, as in the olden days, 
because — because I love you now, because only your love 
can make me happy. Oh, Gerald, believe me when I 
tell you at last — at last — your own Aurelia loves you, as 
she never loved any one before. Eemember, I was fool- 
ish, vain and thoughtless in those other days, Gerald. 
Pity me! love me! take me back to your heart! God 
is my witness that 1 do love you entirely now! Dear- 
est, say I will love you and trust you as in the days of 
old.^^ 

She tried to put her arms up around his neck, and to 
rest her head on his shoulder, but he resisted, and put 
her at arm^s length from him. 

Holding her there, he looked at her with cold scorn 
in his eyes, and a heavy shadow darkening the brow that 
five minutes before had been so calm. 

^‘Aurelia, how dare you attempt to deceive me, after 
all that has passed between us? I know you and your 
object but too well.-^^ 

You do not believe that I really love you, Gerald 
she sobbed. ‘^Oh, do not look at me so harshly! I am 
not deceiving you! Stop bathing Margaret’s face and 
listen to me! Oh, listen! I am not deceiving you, 1 do 
love you! If you could see my poor heart you would 
not look so cruelly cold. Y'ou ought to know that I am 
terribly in earnest when I can stoop to beg for the ruins 
of a heart, which, in its freshness I threw away and 
trampled upon.” 

He had seen Aurelia weep and act dramatically before 
when it suited her purpose, and he only smiled as 
he answered: 

Yes, Aurelia, you ruined it, as you thought, by tramp- 
ling upon it, but I have rebuilt at. Let me bell you the 


350 THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

truth; when you overturned the temple, you crumbled, 
your own image that was set up there; and I, long ago, 
swept out and gave to the hungry winds the dust of the 
broken idol, and over my heart you can reign no more. 
My love and faith were strangled by the velvet hand I 
had kissed in my doting fondness. Never until then did 
I realize the nobility— the grandeur of Margaret's nature 
as when compared with yours, and all tlio old love and 
reverence sprung up once more in my heart for her, and 
I say to you, Aurelia, that I love Margaret with a purer, 
sweeter, deeper and truer love than I have ever known 
before.” 

Aurelia cast herself down on one of the seats, and 
rocked herself to and fro with a despairing wail. 

“ I have indeed lost you— forever,” she moaned. 
‘‘Once you hung over me adoringly, wearying me with 
your caresses. Now you draw back from my touch as 
if I were a viper. And I — what is there I would not 
give for one— just one— of the kisses that in that past I 
put up my hand to ward off. Oh, fool that I was!” 

“ Aurelia,” said Gerald, deeply pained, “ for your 
own sake I pray you to say no more.” 

“I wish,” cried Aurelia, springing up from her chair 
with the fury of a panting tigress, “ that Margaret had 
died when she was a child. She has come between me 
and everything I hold dear in this world. I— I could 
curse her for it; I do curse her for it, and will to the 
latest day of my life. I am going where none of you 
will ever see my face again. There is one thing that I 
shall always hope for and look for, and that is that you 
will tire of Margaret’s weak, puny love, as you did once 
before — and that you will turn to me.” 

“ You must not go away,” said Gerald, calmly, ignor- 
ing the last part of her remarks; “you forget that your 
father lies under this roof, ill unto death, and has sent 
for you to come to him. Your place is by his side, to 
soothe and comfort him. Margaret and 1 will always 
love you as a dear sister ” 

The bitterest laugh that ever was heard rang mock- 
ingly through the conservatory. 

“A sister!” she cut in sharply; “no, I must have a 
husband’s love from you— or nothing. As for my father 

Margaret, who loves the role of a meek, pious, com- 


251 


THE BE A VTIFVL COQ UETTE. 

forting saint, can console him better than I conhl. He 
makes no secret of having loved Margaret best. lie will 
give Margaret the grand old estate of the Lancasters, 
and I will never forgive him for it — for /, instead of that 
low-born peasant's daughter, should queen it over that 
magnificent domain. 1 wish you all the happiness you 
can find with insipid Margaret,^^ she cried, uttering an- 
other blood- curdling, mocking laugh; and with that, be- 
fore Gerald could put out his hand to stop her, Aurelia 
was gone — she had vanished like a shadow. 

Gathering Margaret in his arms Gerald hastily bore 
her to the drawing-room, and summoned Mrs. Denham, 
wlio was overjoyed to see upon entering the room, Mar- 
garet, safe and sound in her home again, despite the note 
the girl had written her. 

need a woman^s wit to help me out of this affair,^’ 
he thought, watching her as she bent over Margaret. 
must tell her the whole story, and be guided by he ' 
counsel.'’^ 

And Gerald did tell her all, from beginning to en , 
even to the most minute detail. 

Mrs. Denham listened with the greatest astonishment. 

^^The stranger — beneath — this roof Margaret^s fa- 
ther!''' she reiterated, over and over again. Why, Mr. 
Eornaine, the whole thing sounds like a romance; bub 
this half-sister of Margaret — this Aurelia — why, I have 
never, in the whole course of my life, heard of such a 
heartless creature. My advice to you, Mr. Romaine, is, 
as long as she hates Margaret so bitterly, do not try to 
find her, let her go. You are very rich, so is Margaret, 
now, so you can maintain this Aurelia handsomely, be- 
cause she will be your wife's half-sister; but let me warn 
you, as you value Margaret's safety, keep her and this 
sister the whole wide world apart." 


CHAPTER LIII. 

CON-CLUSIO^Sr. 

It was some weeks before Paul Lancaster was strong 
enough to bear the shock of the wonderful news in store 
for him. 

It was Mrs. Denham who told it to him at last, and, 
oh, what a joyful meeting there was between father and 


263 THE BEAVTIFUL COQUETTE. 

daughter! But one cloud darkened the sunlight of their 
horizon, and that was, the whereabouts of Aurelia. 

Despite all that she had done, sweet Margaret bore no 
ill will toward Aurelia. On the contrary, with tears in 
her gentle blue eyes, she had besought Gerald to do all 
in his power to find he r half-sister that she might divide 
equally with her the great wealth tliat had come so un- 
expectedly to her. 

And Margaret was firm in refusing to touch a penny 
of it until Aurelia’s share was set aside for her. But, 
although carefully worded advertisements relative to 
this fact were kept constantly in the papers, Aurelia did 
not return. 

From the moment she liad passed out of the conserva- 
tory door she had vanished as completely from sight 
as though the earth had suddenly opened and swallowed 
her. 

At length Gerald noticed that something more than 
'urelia’s absence, even, was weighing on Mr. Lancaster’s 
mi lid. 

IV th gentlemen had spent a small fortune since the 
dav of her disappearance in endeavoring to trace her, 
bnt it was quite useless; and, slowly, from dark-brown, 
ivjr. Lancaster’s hair turned snow-white. 

‘"^Romaine,” he cried, excitedly, one day, as he paced 
the fioor of his room nervously up and down, ‘‘1 can 
bear the weight of the terrible secret I hold locked in my 
breast no longer. I must speak with you about it, for I 
could never mention it to my daughter Margaret. What 
I liave to say would completely prostrate her, and it is 
this: No girl in this whole wide world needs constant, 
watchful care so much as my poor Aurelia. My one 
constant prayer to Heaven, Romaine, is that she may 
never love, for she must never marry, because” — and 
here his strong voice broke down completely, and he 
bowed his head and wept as only a strong man weejis 
when grief more bitter to endure than death itself 
sweeps over him — because,” he repeated, faintly, 
^^the taint of insanity runs in the girl’s blood from her 
mother. I did not know this when I married her 
mother. Every dark-eyed daughter of that house be- 
comes insane at about the time of their eighteenth year, 
but in some cases their malady has not shown itself 


258 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 

until they marry, but as sure as fate they never escape 
then. I have told you before now the story of my un- 
happy life. One part I kept back wliich you, by this an- 
nouncement in regard to my daughter Aurelia, must 
have readily foreseen. When my young wife Aurelia 
discovered that I had had a wife before 1 met her, and 
that other wife^s child must inherit my estate, poor 
Aurelia lost her reason. It was then that she took the 
two babes and fled to this country, where I lost track of 
them completely. 

Now my great fear is, has not the same dread malady 
overtaken my daughter Aurelia? The torture of it on 
my mind is killing me. I would give every dollar 1 am 
worth to find my child, that I might be able to Avatch 
over her when the dread cloud that will darken her 
young life settles over her. She has her many faults, 
but, oh, Romaine, should they not find pardon whon we 
think of the future that awaits her! Would to God that 
she may never marry, that that accursed and much-to-be- 
pitied race may die out with her! I could not tell Mar- 
garet; it would break her heart, and the secret was eat- 
ing my life aAvay, bearing it alone. 

Gerald renewed his efforts to find Aurelia, but it was 
all useless. 

They did not know Aurela^s fate for many a long day 
afterward. 

Margaret and Gerald were married, Mr. Lancaster giv- 
ing the sweet, timid young bride away at the altar. 

Gerald Romaine never forgot that day. It was the 
happiest of his whole life. 

He remembered liow pretty Margaret^s hand had trem- 
bled on his arm as they Avalked down the dim aisle of 
the old church together, and he had whispered lovingly 
to her: 

My own, my darling wife, at last, thank God!’’ 

And Avhen they were alone in the carriage together — 
alone for the first time since the beautiful, holy words 
Avere uttered that made her his very oAvn for life— he 
flung his arms about her, dreAV her fondly toward him, 
Avhispering: 

Nestle your dear little head on my shoulder, my 
SAveet Margaret. And, oh, Avhy won’t you say what you 


254 


THt: BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 

know so well I am hungering to hear? Why won’t you 
say, ^Gerald, my husband, I love you!’?” 

The glowing face was only pressed closer to his shoul- 
der. 

^^My little darling!” 

""Oil, Gerald — you— you know that I do love you!” 
slie faltered, shyly. 

‘"But you did not add the two words that I most long 
to hear, darling!” he said, in the old pleading voice. 
"" You know what they are perfectly well, precious.” 

"" I — I — fZo love you, my dear husband!” murmured shy 
Margaret. 

lie put his hand under her chin, lifted her blusliing 
face, and kissed her sweet lips repeatedly. 

I'hen, as his splendid eyes met hers, he read in her 
beautiful pure face all her love and confidence and happy 
hope. 

Gerald drew her closer to his bosom, and laid his cheek 
against hers, saying fondly and proudly: 

‘ My wife— my life! Oli, we will walk this world, 

Yoked in all exercise of noble end, 

And so through these dark gates across the wild 
That no man knows. My hopes and thine are one. 
Accomplish thou my manhood, and thyself. 

Lay thy sweet hands in mine, and trust to me.’ ” 

Meanwhile, where was Aurelia, the beautiful, faulty 
girl who, had so much need of the pity of Heaven and 
mankind? 

They tell even now, in the gay city of Paris, of the 
wondrous beauty of a young girl who came there sud- 
denly one day, no one knew from whence. 

She was wondrously lovely. Men lost their hearts by 
one look at that perfect face, and adored her. 

She was gay, willful, capricious, proud, and defiant — 
yet all that was enchanting. 

No man who looked into those wondrous dark eyes 
could resist her — yet a man had far better given his heart 
to a marble statue than to her. 

She took all — she gave nothing. Even princes sighed 
in vain for one smile from those beautiful lips. 

Those who knew her best could tell that her gayety 
was all forced — her brilliancy assumed. They called 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE. 255 

her the Beautiful Icicle, and no name could have suited 
her better. 

Men knew that her smiles were deadly as poison; a 
glance from her dark eyes fatal as death — yet they were 
like moths fluttering around the light — they fluttered 
nearer and nearer, were singed, and fell under her feet 
to be trampled on. 

She lived in a whirl of excitement — she knew no rest. 
There was no revel in that world of hers in which she 
did not take the lead. There was no extravagance in 
which she did not take the principal part. There was 
no gayety so wild but that she joined in it, yet always 
the same — cold, proud, cruel as death. 

So through the long, brilliant years she lived, and they 
said no woman living had such luxury, such admiration 
as fell to her lot; and they said, too, that no woman liv- 
ing had done more harm by .her fatal gift of beauty, 
which she might have turned into a blessing from 
Heaven instead of a curse; for wives and sweethearts 
trembled when they heard her name upon the lips of a 
husband or a lover. 

And that name which struck such terror to the hearts 
of women was — Aurelia. 

But one day she disappeared from Paris quite as sud- 
denly as she had come. 

On the pearl and gold table of her boudoir they found 
a card bearing these few simple words: 

Sell everything that belongs to me at public sale, 
and divide it as far as it will go among the needy poor. 

[Signed] Aurelia.^^ 

‘‘There was a little heart, after all, in the Beautiful 
Icicle,^’ the people said, who obeyed Iier behest. 

One day, months later, Gerald and Margaret, in their 
sunny, happy home across the water, received a letter 
bearing a foreign post-mark. Margaret j)ressed it to her 
lips with a great, glad cry. 

“ Call papa, Gerald, dearest, she said. “ See, it is 
from our long-lost Aurelia; he will want to hear it 
read.'’^ 

And, with her loved ones seated near her, Margaret 
broke the seal. It was indeed from Aurelia, and ran as 
follows: 


256 


THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE, 


‘‘Dear Margaret, Gerald, and Father, — Tlio 
time has come wheu I think it best to relieve your minds 
in regard to my fate — I am married; not to an emperor, 
grand duke, or a noble lord — my Robin is only an artist 
— but I am far happier with him than I would be with 
another man, were he a king on a throne. Ah, yes, we 
are very happy, Robin and I, in our little cottage down 
by the banks of the River Rhine. Come and see us, 
Margaret, you and Gerald, and bring father with you; 
and tell him this for me, Margaret: I know of the curse 
that hung over my life. I learned of it from some of 
his private papers which he entrusted to my care, and 
tell him, Margaret, that God in his mercy has spared me 
from a fate more cruel than death — the curse has passed 
me by — unharmed — untouched. I have learned lifers 
greatest, grandest lesson, Margaret, and that is, that 
there is something dearer than gold, and far more 
precious than all worldly wealth, and that is — the true 
love of a faithful, honest heart. All other touches of 
love that I have known in the past, were but light fan- 
cies, I find, Margaret. I never knew what real love 
meant until Robin and I were wed. I know you are all 
very happy. I read in the society papers how fond Ger- 
ald IS of his lovely wife, and proud father is of his fair- 
haired Margaret — his treasure, as he calls you. But 
when you think of me, if ever, always think of me 
kindly, and at my best, and say to yourself: ^ It was the 
true love of an honest heart that won — your. — 

^Aurelia.' 

[the end.] 




v 


> 




. * r'' 











\ 


I 


\ 


• ♦ 


V 


I 



\ 




.-•'I 

►-< / I 



4 





% 





. f ^ 0 


LADRA JEAN LIBBEY’S 


A3 


GREATEST NOVELS. 

I s o 


These novels are guaranteed to be Laura Jean Libbey’s 
best novels. Look out for them and see that the author’s 
name, Laura Jean Libbey, appears on both cover and title 
page. The following stories by Laura Jean Libbey have al- 
ready been published in book- form at 25 cents each. Take 
this list to the nearest book store and be supplied with the 
sweetest, tenderest and most charming works of fiction ever 
written. 


THE ALPHABET OF LOVE 
A MASTER WORKMAN’S OATH . 
FLIRTATIONS OF A BEAUTY 
WILLFUL GAYNELL 
PRETTY FREDA’S LOVERS . 
THE CRIME OP HALLOW-E’EN . 
LITTLE LEAFY . 

LITTLE RUBY’S RIVAL LOVERS 
ONLY A MECHANIC’S DAUGHTER 
DAISY GORDON’S FOLLY . 
LYNDALL’S TEMPTATION 
THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE 
DORA MILLER . 


25c. 

25c. 

25c. 

25c. 

25c. 

25c. 

25c. 

25c. 

25c. 

25c. 

25c. 

25c. 

25c. 


These enchanting novels are for sale at 
all news-stands and book stores throughout 
the country at 2S cents per copy, or a single 
copy will be sent to any address on receipt 
of 28 cents. 


Address MUNRO’S PUBLISHING HOUSE, 

Box 3643. 24 and 26 Vandewater St.. New York 





w 


I 



f 



.( 




